Biohazard
by Satan's Favorite
Summary: A revamp of my original Epidemic story. Through the hivemind Heller discovers the true reason behind Alex's turn to evil. Now he must travel to the holding place of Pariah, lest he becomes corrupted too. When he arrives, all hell breaks lose, and old foes return.
1. Chapter 1- Schizophrenia

**[AN** : My original run of this FF wasn't that well received and I personally felt as though it could be improved after I noticed I had put out 10 chapters and nothing big had happened in the story yet. So this is a retelling of that story with (hopefully) better dialog, wording and longer chapters to better express my thoughts. Those of you who have read through the original, I urge (beg) you to go through this one. There were changes major and minor to the overall story, plus it has that new fic smell. This story treats P1, P2 and The P2 Prequel comics as canon. Enjoy. **]**

* * *

A couple splashes of red, a few snapping sounds and flash of second-hand memories. That is what he has been seeing for the past few hours. James reformed himself. His body had broken down into a mass of bioluminescent flesh as all of his focus went into parsing through Mercer's vast collection of memories. He had to go through it this way. He had to take his time with his research for taking in the thousands of lifetimes of info Alex had could take days. Yet there were no answers to the question that has haunted him for weeks: Why am I hearing voices? He held his head against his newly formed hands as the pain from the influx of information intensified. His heavy gasps echoed into the darkness of the old church he decided to use as a quiet space.

Then came the whispers that have annoyed him since Alex's death. Multiple voices of men and women in his head spoke at once like a crowd in a concert hall.

'Free me', "Help me', 'Evil men in masks', 'Kill them' they'd say in different intensities. Some begged others demanded.

"Shut up!" he boomed.

The voices continued.

Heller's body collapsed back into the mound of bioluminescent flesh and he retreated back into the memories of the man he killed. Only like this could he escape the constant badgering in his brain.

He probed deeper and deeper, combing through memories of birthday parties him and Alex never been to, doctor visits they never made, schools they never attended, girlfriends and boyfriends they never loved.

It was like a family tree of minor relationships all with one constant; Alex Mercer. Each memory ended with a swift or brutal killing and then darkness. All he needed to do was follow these broken thoughts to the source and stay on the true line. But every time he thought he had a decent flow, his concentration was broken by another memory popping in and taking him on a journey through unimportant pasts.

He'd get a flash of running through New York chasing a giant beast that was kidnapping Dana and he'd be in a park on his back getting his head kicked in by Mercer. He'd be on a roof telling his life's story to Captain Cross and then be choking on his own blood in science gear as Alex ran a bladed arm into his gut. The mass of viral flesh rippled. If he was in human shape it would've been an audible groan.

The trip down memory lane had gone through at least 100 different people now and Alex kept slipping through. It was difficult to separate these stories and he knew part of it came from the voices. He only wanted to see Alex's full story, to know if he too suffered from the voices, but they only wanted to show him those they thought guilty being executed.

The mass tightened and it's flesh hardened into a bone-like carapace. Heller was going to make the deepest plunge he could and follow the trail of his former enemy until he got what he needed. He began with his own memories, the hooded Blacklight being on his knees in front of him stating those fateful last words "Welcome to the top of the food chain".

Then he followed from the latest memories he got from him after consumption where he discovered where Alex contained Dana and his daughter, Amaya. The images began to blur as other pasts began to bleed in, but he pushed on. Heller followed along with Alex in reverse, retracing his steps to see if he had dealt with the noise in his mind and how to control it.

The events came to him backwards, but were what he was searching for:

-Threatening the Evolved to stay on task.

-Telling Dana his secret plan.

-Contaminating Whitelight with his genes.

-Talking to Heller about his army.

-Infecting Heller.

-Reinfecting New York in Penn Station.

-Returning to New York in military vehicles disguised as a soldier.

-A cabin in the Canadian North.

-Intense pain from the voices.

-Walking around Paris at night.

-The voices again.

-Poor people dying in streets.

-More voices.

-Street crime.

-A nuclear blast.

-A mutant beast.

-Elizabeth Greene.

-A child.

Heller's mass dug into the cracked wood of the church. Heller noticed something familiar about this child. He has seen them before. He focused on it.

-Elizabeth Greene's child.

-A boy.

-Taken by Blackwatch when he was born.

-Held in captivity; dangerous.

-Codenamed Pariah.

Then the junk memories finally broke through. More death, more scientists slaughtered, more soldiers devoured. The hardened mass expanded spikes out of its shell which plunged themselves into the walls and ceiling of the old church.

"That's it! That is it! I've had it with this!" Heller screamed in his mind. "Show it to me. Show it all!"

A stream of madness poured into his consciousness. It was almost overwhelming. The voices came in, now in unison. In one multi-gendered voice they spoke:

"Freedom. Oppressors. Filth. All of them animals."

Heller heard their commentary echo throughout every cell of his body. His mind, his very being was being shown repeated images of murder. Again he focused. Concentrated on each sequence, each flash of death and rage as his body ached all over. It was the same pain- the same exact pain he felt Alex go through in his memories. The voices pushed Alex into madness, maybe he could be strong enough to resist?

His shell began to crack from the strain, but he ignored it. He needed to find the source. The images filtered through faster and faster, the voices became louder and louder and angrier.

"Kill them! Spread! Free me!"

Heller felt the source becoming clearer, much more defined as the pain and intensity increased. It was a familiar tugging in his head. The feeling he gets when he calls Hunters to aid him in battle. A mental link that force urges into their minds and commands them to action. Heller was on the pet end of this mental leash and was fighting to keep from being pulled in the same direction Alex was. All he needed was to know who was trying to control him. Who was trying to persuade him with these voices and visions of murdered humans.

He followed the tugging in his mind and pulled on it as much as he could. He knew the hivemind was shared. Even though there can only be a miniscule number of leaders he knew he could view who the leader was through it. Just as they were pulling him in one direction he pulled them closer to him. The voices began to blur into one inaudible, sped up speech and the images thinned out into darkness.

One final offense.

The spiked, bone-case mound roared from within and Heller mentally pulled as hard as he could on the hivemind. Finally, he got a picture:

-Cement.

-Cement walls, floors and ceiling.

-Multiple bright lights above.

-A large view window above.

-Human figures behind the glass.

-Scientists.

-Blackwatch soldiers.

All familiar. Every detail was something he had seen before. His mind slipped and the hivemind broke away from him. The voices stopped and the images faded. Heller's body shrank back into it's human form and he stood in the broken ground in the middle of the church with his head low. His mind now was now clear and he knew what was happening. Those were the same things he saw when viewing the memories that referenced the child. This Pariah as he has been named, is held by Blackwatch and he wants out. His mother, Elizabeth Greene, was always speaking with him through the hivemind. She was already driven insane by the virus.

Then it spoke through Alex after he consumed her. Using her connection with him to put the drive into Alex's mind to spread the virus, so that he may be free. Now it was trying to do the same with Heller.

James felt the tug once more. The voices whispered to him, "Freedom". If Alex Mercer could be driven mad by the hivemind used by this child, Heller could be too. Maybe it was luck, maybe it was his "stubborn DNA" as Alex put it, but for some reason the boy could not persuade him as easily. Though, if given enough time, he would gain control. He could end up starting the infection again and killing millions maybe billions of people- even his daughter.

Heller can't let that happen. He opened the old wooden doors of the church and stepped into the mid-morning sun. The people around him didn't notice for they were too concerned with their own needs. Food and water was more of a concern than a strange man coming out of an old cathedral.

James pushed passed the crowd of pedestrians with purpose. He walked swiftly to the East knowing that a Military Base was in that direction. He molded his flesh into a Captain's uniform. Those who noticed screamed and ran for their lives. Those who didn't catch the initial change assumed the commotion was because the modern Gestapo was stomping through and gave him a wide berth. Blackwatch garnered fear from those they were meant to protect. That fear is well-deserved due to their less than humanitarian efforts. The suit of his enemies was always uncomfortable for him, but he could not deny its uses. He'll be able to enter the military depot with free reign over anyone inside, thanks to the marker on his shoulder and the color of his gear.

His phone buzzed within his pocket. He knew only a handful of trusted individuals had his number, but he was hesitant to answer. It'd most likely be his daughter and he felt it'd be too unsettling to tell her he would not be home anytime soon.

"Hello?" he answered in a somber voice that was not his own.

"Uhhh, who is this?" Dana Mercer questioned.

James cleared his throat a few times, allowing for his vocal chords to reshape to their base form.

"Dana, sorry. It's me." He responded.

"Oh, okay. Got worried for a second there. Uhm, I'm calling because-"

"Did he pick up?!" an excited young girls voice interrupted.

"Yeah, I-" Dana tried to continue.

"Can I talk to him?!"

"Not now, Kiddo. This is kind of important, you know the rules about important talk."

James felt a knot in his stomach. He hasn't seen his daughter in a few days. The voices in his head won't give him peace and his fears of the unknown won't allow him to be with her comfortably. He could've been going crazy he thought; could have been turning into one of those people that talk to nothing out on the streets. So he left her with Dana until he could sort it out. Now knowing where the source of his schizophrenia comes from and what it is capable of if unchecked, he is even less likely to return to her anytime soon. It hurts him to be apart from her again, but if it's for her safety he deals with it. But she nor Dana know about this, nor would they truly understand. Every day she has called wondering when he'd come home, and every day he tells her soon and every day it breaks his heart to lie to her. Now he must tell her they will be a part for even longer.

"She really misses you, Muscles."

"I know, I know. Look, I-"

"It's okay. You don't have to give me an excuse. I understand that you have a duty to protect us. I appreciate it and I know she does too. I think we'd just both be a little less restless is we got some type of ETA. Is that how you army guys say it?"

"Dana, I won't be coming home for... maybe a few more days," Heller said solemnly. "I have to leave New York."

"Woah, what? Why?!"

"It's big, really big. Like taking out all of Blackwatch big."

"My God, that is... I... I don't know what to say to that exactly."

"Just tell me you can watch over Maya for a little more. Please."

"James you know I love that little girl, I just... she really misses you. This will crush her."

"I know. It's just the only option I have."

"I understand. I'll let her know, but please, please be careful!"

"I will, I'll call you when I get free. But for now I have to stay silent. I'll hit you up later."

Heller hung up. He knew Dana wouldn't call him back. She knows not to disturb him in times like this, but he knew he owes her an apology and a well thought out explanation. But for now it was go-time. He marched into the base with the swagger and head bob his current skinsuit was known for. Heller copied the Captains mannerisms perfectly to better conceal his intentions. A Lieutenant ran up to him with a proper salute.

"Good to see you back, sir!" the Lt. said.

"Cut the shit and prep a flight for me to the mainland!" he spoke with the voice and mannerism of the Captain.

The Lt. awkwardly followed behind his fake commanding officer.

"But, sir, the virus threat is only on the island!"

"No... it isn't."

He stopped his stride and turned to face his following lackey and grabbed him by his vest and pulled him close to his masked face.

"Now get me a bird out of here!"

Heller pushed him away and the Lt. ran off to prepare the pilots for takeoff.

* * *

 **1115 Hours**

 **Lompoc, California**

 **Vandenberg Air Force Base**

 **30 Meters Below Ground**

 **Cell Block D**

You get used to the taste of your own blood, especially in this line of work. It becomes a daily reminder that you are not unstoppable. That you can be wounded. That you are human. He breathed in deeply from his nose and felt it ooze to the back of his throat. He spat a loogie of it on the floor to mix with the rest. Then he was punched again, this time with vigor. If he wasn't chained to the chair he would've fallen over from the force. His head ached and his neck was sore from the whiplash. He was tired, mentally and physically- comes with the sleep deprivation they put you through. Torture was a part of his training when he first started here. None of this was new. But it surely was not fun. Especially when they label you a traitor. That's when they go all out.

A bucket of ice cold water was poured over him, washing away the sweat and blood. Whatever moment of rest he thought he could have was interrupted by the sting of a slap across the face. General Pratchett was the interrogator. He was also his commanding officer. He was pissed. He towered over him with his 6'4" stature and thick gray beard. His white undershirt stained red with blood. The General was pushing close to 80, but he was a solid slab of muscle. When you begin powerlifting in the military it becomes a part of your daily life. Something not taken away by the duties of Blackwatch. He readjusted his gloves and balled up his fists ready to strike again.

"We have a code here, son." he started in his chain smoker's voice. "A code of ethics. In that code we designate what is and is not allowed within the ranks."

He grabbed his victim's face and forced him to look into his eyes.

"Treason is not one of them."

He gassed the detainee with an uppercut to the gut. One of the guards next to the cell door handed the General a file. He opened it and thumbed through the pages until he got to the pictures. He held them up to the bound man's face.

"This is you in the Gentek building with our target. Looks like you were ready to take him into custody."

He let the photo fall into the bloodied man's lap.

"This is you killing the two soldiers who accompanied you."

That picture too fell out of his hand and into the other man's lap.

"This is you allowing the target to leave."

The final image joined the rest. Gen. Pratchett handed the file back to his subordinate.

"You allowed the target to escape and turned on your own men. In doing so you allowed all that we have worked for to go to ruin."

His voice was calm, but everyone could feel the air changing.

"You were one of the most decorated soldiers we had. So I ask you _former_ Colonel Rooks, what made you soft?"

Rooks lifted his head as best he could on his own. The dim lighting of his cell barely helped his blurred vision.

"I am not soft," he began, mumbling through busted lips and chipped teeth. "I just know when a cause is lost. You had me brought here to answer for the crimes of not eliminating the threats James Heller and Alex Mercer, but you do not understand. You walk around here, all day every day, in your metal fortress where you're only prisoner is a child. Whereas I am out there, where monsters roam in the skins of men. These monsters aren't like us. They can't be swayed by threats or harmed by bullets. They can't be threatened by us. If they could be stopped they would have been. But with every mission, every deployment we make, we lose more men and more resources. New York is a lost cause. Stopping Mercer and Heller is a lost cause. Fighting them is. A. Lost. Cause. So instead of fighting, I tried reason. He could've killed me- your photos don't show that. Twice he could have ended my life, but he didn't for whatever reason- I don't know. But the man is a father and like any good father he'd fight for his child. That's what he did. That's what he was doing all along. He fought for his child. If all he wanted was his kid back if all it took was his daughter being reunited with him to end the madness then giving her to him could be seen as me completing my mission."

With a roar he kicked Rooks across the face.

"Your mission is to remove all contaminants of the virus from civilian areas and to retrieve all assets for the betterment of our understanding of it!" Pratchett yelled in his ringing ears. "His daughter is an asset to us. She was to be brought here and used for our advancement in research!"

He gripped his hand tightly around Rook's throat cutting off his breathing.

"But because of you and your pansy ass good deed we lost what could've been the key to knowing how the boy works!"

He squeezed harder before letting go. He likes to show off his power. Likes to show how close he can get someone to death before he lets them live the horror of pain again.

"I do not...feel bad... for what I have done," the former Colonel choked out. "Because of me, the virus is gone and the tangos are MIA. Most likely they have killed each other. Because of me, our mission in New York is over!"

"No, it isn't." Pratchett replied. "We need that girl. We need her DNA. Or at the very least her father's, but from what I understand your men allowed him to destroy all of that too."

"This is bullshit!" he said through his teeth, well, the ones he had left. "Why are we here to eradicate the virus threat if we are just going to keep making it worse?! Why do we keep playing around with biological weaponry like they're our toys?! I was told Blackwatch was created to combat these mistakes not to create more!"

The General gave a chuckled. A mocking, chest bouncing chuckle. One that signified that what was just said was possibly the dumbest thing he has ever heard.

He sighed, "I knew it. I knew you weren't ready. After Randall was killed, someone had to go into the field. When they said it would be you, I just knew that they made a mistake. You say I don't see how this works, but you must be completely blind to who you work for. We are Blackwatch, son, we are here to combat our mistakes, yes. But to also improve upon them so that our next endeavour won't be as disastrous. Our scientists say the DNA held within Heller and his daughter could be the ultimate piece to this. Our mission isn't to eradicate the virus, but to perfect it for our own objectives."

These were things that were always hinted to Rooks by the brass. These were things that were obvious, but for whatever reason he hid them away. He has killed people. Killed civilians in the name of duty, to keep the greater good safe from their failures. He didn't know what exactly he expected to do when he found out they didn't really have a desire to end their weaponization of the virus. He guessed he'd plan on resigning. But you can't leave Blackwatch- not alive anyway.

Pratchett looked through the folder one last time.

"You have a wife and child."

Rooks tried to jump up as best he could.

"Don't you dare!"

"That's probably why he let you live. Probably saw himself within you! Pathetic."

He threw the folder against his chest.

"I won't go near your family, Rooks..."

One oh Pratchett's guards slid open the metal cell door and stepped out.

"...but neither will you. You have been sentenced to death. The next time we meet I will be killing you. I just need time to decide how. Enjoy the few hours you have left."

Everyone walked out the cell and the lights clicked off leaving Rooks in the darkness. He was not too proud to cry. He has told them he didn't feel bad for what he did. Even when his men turned their weapons on him, placed him on a plane to this base, and they threw him into this cell, he believed the entire time he did the right thing. Now he is regretting that decision. He gave up his family, so someone else could have theirs.

* * *

 **1355 Hours**

 **Lompoc, California**

 **Vandenberg Air Force Base**

 **60 Meters Below Ground**

 **Research Bay C-03 E-Code Labs**

"Beautiful aren't they?" Dr. Myers asked his colleagues while stroking his thick, dark goatee. "So human, yet so... much more."

The other scientists in the room looked at each other with puzzlement. They always found Myers to be very... eccentric, but with their recent breakthroughs he's become much more unnerving to the crew. Like the rest of them he was being paid to produce any war-zone applicable advancements on the Blacklight virus, but he clearly was getting some other depraved form of personal satisfaction for their morally questionable practices.

His eyes were glued to the multiple screens playing, ending and replaying footage of the Evolved from the second New York outbreak. Their fights with Heller, their killings of fellow operatives, each act of violence they could have captured on film was running in front of his eyes and he was infatuated with it. He swung his hips back and forth in his swivel chair with almost childlike interest. All he wanted to do was watch. The security door opened and two unmasked troopers entered with purpose. They pushed past the other lab coats and made a beeline to Myers and stood on either side of him.

"Dr. Myers," the brown skinned, shaven head bearing soldier started,"you were to meet us topside. Did you not hear the announcements we made?"

"Oh yes I did, Deacon. They're very distracting. So I had the intercom disconnected. Can't be working with test tubes and doing measurements with loud noises blurting unexpectedly. It rattles the bones." Myers said trembling his hands in the air in front of him and not letting his gaze leave the screens.

Both operatives looked around realizing that indeed he was telling the truth. The announcement speaker was no longer a speaker, but a bunch of tangled wires coming out of a hole in the wall.

"Regardless," Deacon continued, "you are being moved to an off-base facility. We must go now."

"Bah!" The near elderly scientist scoffed throwing his wrist in a refusing manner. "I don't want to leave. I refuse."

"The decision was already made by people higher than the both of us."

"Then tell those people I am not moving. My research is here, my notes are here, I am surrounded by everything I ever made. Why would I leave this behind?"

"Again, doctor, that is not something you can disagree with."

"They asked me to work on the virus for them. I did so. They asked me to improve their D-Code soldiers. I did so. They asked me to look over that marvel of evolution they call a boy and I did so. They owe me this comfort."

Deacon sighed and grabbed the area between his eyes. He has dealt with the good doctor's stubbornness before, but at this moment it was becoming very aggravating. He was ordered to take the doctor off-base. He'd be damned if he let an old man's obstinacy get him chewed out by the General.

"Well, we tried doing this nicely." he said with mild disappointment in his voice. "Santos, please help the doctor out of this room."

Santos, the lighter skinned operative who had been scowling ever since he entered the lab, harshly grabbed Dr. Myers by the back of his neck and yanked him out of his chair. Papers and empty vials fell off the doctor's workstation as he was literally pulled away from his desk and thrown out into the hallway. Myers laid on the floor covering his head to protect himself from whatever Santos did next. Santos stomped into the hallway and pulled Myers up by his shirt, making him stare into his eyes, one of which was blinded and white.

"Do you feel like moving now, doc?!" Deacon mockingly asked from the lab.

He turned his attention to the rest of the scientists in the room. He met each of their panicked expressions with his own vacant stare.

"We only needed, Myers. Get back to work."

They didn't move, practically frozen in fear. Deacon furrowed his brow and chambered a round in his rifle. Everyone immediately rushed back into their routines. He turned and walked out the lab closing the door behind him.

"Let's move." He said to Santos.

Santos then took Dr. Myers by the arm and marched him with Deacon down the concrete corridor, which would lead them up and out of the building.


	2. Chapter 2- Knock Knock

**1405 Hours**

 **Lompoc, California**

 **Vandenberg Air Force Base**

 **60 Meters Below Ground**

 **Control Room and Observation Deck**

General Pratchett stood stoically in the middle of the command center with his hands behind his back. The blue glow of the screens surrounding him and his personnel shined across his scowling face, highlighting the wrinkles of his face. His subordinates were busy typing on digital keyboards and passing data through secure channels, but on the main screen in front of them was the live feed of a Blackwatch Transport Helicopter making its way over the summit of foresty hills and towards the restricted area.

"Who the hell authorized this?!" he demanded to know in his gruff voice.

Everyone in the room jumped at the sound of his booming voice.

"No one from here or Command, sir." one of the technicians replied swiftly.

"That's what I thought," Pratchett said.

No one- not even the brass- is allowed within the confines of this Air Force base without the approval of the General himself. No one gets his approval- ever.

"Have you tried to make contact with the vessel?" Pratchett questioned.

"No, sir. We awaited your permission to act." another technician explained.

The video feed zoomed into the cockpit of the approaching Blackhawk showing that there was only one passenger, the pilot himself: a white male in a Commander uniform without the standard gas mask.

"We never travel in less than four." Pratchett said to no one in particular. "Open a frequency."

* * *

He always hated the uniform. It was a symbol of the enemy, a reminder of how low he has to sink to complete his missions... and it was always so damn hot. But he couldn't deny its uses. It got him out of New York, onto a secure air base and a private heli to get to the most secured location on the planet. It wouldn't be long now, he was only a few miles out and the long stretch of forest and winding roads ended before him at the isolated Vanderberg Air Force Base.

Get in, kill all inside and get out, that was the plan. If the disguise held up this would be as simple as crawling up the chain of command, dismantling the projects inside then finding the Pariah child and ending him. If it didn't hold up there was always the direct approach. His grip tightened on the cyclic stick as he pushed it forward for more speed. He was almost fidgety with anticipation of what would come next when he'd touch down. Months of pain, anger and fighting would be over in one day- one final conflict to end them for the rest of his life.

As the forest beneath him opened up to the view of the base and the expansive ocean in front of him, a great and powerful pain exploded in the back of his head and shot forward to his sinuses. He shook his head for relief and just as quickly as it came it ended.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked himself in a nasally voice.

The headaches he's been getting recently were less intense than this. It burned, like fire behind his eyes. They were usually accompanied by faint images and hallucinations. This one was new, reminiscent of a migraine. He hasn't had one in months. If he could even get them anymore was questionable. But he knew where it came from. The closer he gets to the child, the worse these mind attacks will be, all the more reason to hurry his way inside.

Just then his radio called out.

"Attention unknown aircraft. You are in violation of our restricted airspace. Turn back now. Over." a female voice said.

He picked up the helicopter's radio to respond.

"This is Sergeant Wilson of Blackwatch, requesting landing. Over."

"Sergeant, all personnel who wish to arrive at this facility must do so through our secure permissions program, we-"

"I am from the NYZ deployment unit. My intel on tango primaries must be given to the higher-ups at this facility. Waiting would jeopardize our mission as the situation could change. Over" he interrupted.

There was a long pause.

"Why didn't you send your intel through our commlinks, Wilson? Instead of taking a 3-hour flight you could have broadcasted it to us in 3 minutes. Over." an older male voice asked.

He furrowed his brow. Something wasn't right. He needed to persuade them quickly.

"Our communications were damaged by the infected. Again, this intel is time sensitive. Waiting for repairs would set us too far back. Over."

They wouldn't buy that and he knew it. He was getting closer to the base, only a mile to go by his estimation. If this went downhill he could most likely ram himself into one the towers and continue from there. It'd be messy, but at least he'd be inside.

* * *

Pratchett was leaning onto a workstation with a microphone to his face and his finger hovering over the transmission button. On the main screen was a digital voice analyzer that was scanning Wilson's voice and a graphic displaying his deployment info. His voice matched what was on file, but the NYZ deployment information listed Wilson as Missing In Action.

Pratchett pressed the button. "It seems you're mistaken, son. Your commlinks work fine, so do your data transmissions. It even says here you're MIA. Over."

He released the button and looked over at a technician to his right who was waiting for his approval.

"Do it." Pratchett told him.

The technician then typed in some coordinates and flipped a switch.

* * *

"It seems you're mistaken, son. Your comlinks work fine, so do your data transmissions. It even says here you're MIA. Over." the man on his radio said.

He ground his teeth tightly in anticipation for what was coming next. Out in the distance on a hill covered in trees a pillar of smoke was rising high into the sky, then it changed it's trajectory and began moving towards Wilson's helicopter. It was a missile on its way to take him out of the air.

"I'm coming for you, motherfuckers- all of you!" he roared into the radio with his natural voice. His hair, face and uniform shifted into his regular jacket and jeans, with his Caucasian features becoming African-American and his face twisted in anger.

James Heller, knew it wouldn't be easy. He knew an impromptu trip to a Californian Blackwatch locale would send up many red flags, but this is where he needed to be. Where the story needed to end. And if they thought a single rocket was going to take him out, was going to stop him from tearing out their throats, they were wrong.

The missile collided with his helicopter, exploding it less than a mile away from his target, sending the wreckage into the foliage below.

* * *

"I'm coming for you, motherfuckers- all of you!" he roared into the radio with his natural voice. His hair, face and uniform shifted into his regular jacket and jeans, with his Caucasian features becoming African-American and his face twisted in anger. Multiple technicians gasped and muttered their amazement at his transformation.

"What is that?!" "How is that possible?!" "That thing is coming here?!" they asked each other.

They saw as their missile struck the vessel and as the remains fell into the shrubbery. Pratchett stood in agitated amazement. His fist came crashing down on the desk he stood at, denting the metal and sending the resounding bang echoing throughout the control room. Everyone around him stopped their shocked blabbering and focused on their commanding officer.

"I want a team sent to that crash sight! I want everyone on high alert and a message sent to the New York branch that one of there fucking monsters is at my doorstep! If he gets passed that treeline I want the Big Boys sent in! He is not to make it on our concrete! Do you hear me?!"

"Sir, yes sir!" They responded and jumped to their duties. Radio signals were sent out and operations were deployed.

Pratchett made his way to the metal door that was the exit. If that thing was coming here, coming to kill them, then he needed to prepare another layer of defense. He needed to get below ground and deploy some of their new inventions.

* * *

 **1415 Hours**

 **Lompoc, California**

 **Vandenberg Air Force Base**

 **2.5 Kilometers Off-Base**

 **Topside**

The pain of fire didn't have the same sting that it used to. What was once a searing dance of stabbing heat was now more like annoying pricking needles on his skin. Heller pushed forward off the ground, raising the burning wreckage of his helicopter off his back. The charred metal landed with a thud behind him, embedding itself in the black scorched dirt. The tendrils of biomass composing his skin and clothes reached over one another to smother out the tiny flames that were eating at his shoulders and neck. They settled back together and reshaped his form, healing all damage he had gotten from the crash.

The air around him was thick with blackened smoked and much of the treeline was on fire. These weren't things he'd need to be concerned about, however getting his bearings was. The missile caused the heli to spin down making him lose the direction of where the base would be. Just a hard leap upwards and he'd know where to point his frustration.

Just as he was bending his legs to jump the crack of a gunshot rang out from the brush as a rifle bullet bounced off his cheek. He looked in the direction the round came from and saw the faint blue glow of helmet goggles.

"Target still active." a voice failed to whisper into his radio.

Heller's temples pulsed and his vision dissolved into an orange wave that rippled across the trees and along the grass. In an outward ring, the wave spread far, outlining hundreds of trees, large tuffs of shrubbery, a carpet of grass and roughly two dozen male figures each carrying military grade weaponry taking cover behind tree trunks. His sonar showed that he was surrounded and that each rifle was trained at his head. His vision returned to its normal state and he balled up his fists.

"What do we do now?!" another voiced fearfully asked?

If the soldiers blinked they would have missed it. It wasn't a movement just a thought that set the change in motion. Bones quietly dislocated and became elastic, skin rearranged itself into shining serrated chains and muscle became dense, tough rope with Heller's forearm forming into one solid hook-blade. The whipfist, as it was named, was created and Heller held it behind him in attack formation.

"Open fire! Open fire!" the commanding officer screamed.

His command was followed with the roar of fully automatic gunfire. Heller swung his arm in front of him causing his whipfist to elongate and shred anything and everything in front of him. Tree trunks exploded into splinters and several torsos were separated from their legs. Blood and bark fell onto the forest floor causing some combatants to scatter, lest they be crushed by the falling timber.

He kicked behind him with a grunt sending the wreckage that had him pinned from before somersaulting into another soldier, smashing his head between the metal and a large rock. He swung his arm again in an upward motion, bisecting another foe who thought his thirty foot distance would keep him out of danger. Bullets continued to be fired, but his movement kept most from contacting. Those that did ricocheted harmlessly off his skin and into the woods around him or found the flesh of the other operatives.

"C'mon you bastards!" James mocked as he cut through more trees killing several more soldiers.

Bullets sparked off the back of his shaved head and then the repeating click of the hammer announced that the rifle was empty. Heller turned to meet his foolish attacker head on. The soldier dropped his gun and pulled out his sidearm pistol in desperation. He opened fire point blank into the angered infected man's face to no avail. It was with ease that James grabbed the soldier by his throat and flung him several dozen yards over the treetops. His screams echoed far and became distant until they abruptly stopped, signaling that he made contact with something solid.

The few remaining gunmen spread further apart and continued to fire. Heller pressed on with his rampage slicing a soldier down, jumping to the next, smashing his head into the ground then beheading another. Soon there was only one and he wasn't feeling very confidant of his chances at putting Heller down. With his comrades dead around him he tried to radio for assistance.

"Team Bravo to Throne! Team Bravo to Throne! Requesting backup, requesting-"

He looked down and the hooked blade that murdered his mates was now coming out of his abdomen. In the next moment, he was off his feet and being pulled backwards at an alarming speed. Heller reeled him in with the whipfist and let his catch collide at full speed with his body. In an instant multiple tendrils latched onto the soldier, broke down his uniform and flesh and absorbed every ounce it could of his being.

* * *

Private Dave Miller was his name and now Heller was viewing his entire life in a blur of images and soundbites. Every uneventful patrol mission, every disgusting food ration, every training session was now his experience. Heller got every little mundane detail and the not so mundane.

"Miller, fall in! We are the first response to the tango at the crash site." his ally informed with a a finger pointing to the humvees the troops used to catch up to Heller.

"Hell yeah, I've been looking for some action!" Miller replied in excitement.

"Me too, brother, me too. If we can kill this fucker, they might let us into the E-Code Program." An image of nude men being injected with a red goop jumped into his mind.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

* * *

'E-Codes? They made more super soldiers?' Heller thought to himself. 'Now I gotta kill them too.'

Miller's memories told James that his destination was to his left. He didn't have a lot of useful information in his head but he had to walk these parameters multiple times, so his keen sense of where he was on the base was an asset. With a mighty push, he leaped over the treeline and the landscape began to transition from forest to dirt road. He landed next to the humvees that squad used to get to him and jumped upwards again. He broke tree branches on his way down and landed with a powerful thud.

The dirt road opened up to a concrete strip-way. The base in front of him stretched across from the hills to his left about a mile to the hills to his right. Water towers stood tall in front of the Pacific Ocean and rocket scaffolding towered above. Blocking his path, however, was a blockade of humvees, a tank, numerous foot soldiers and 4 of the familiar D-Code super soldiers. Everyone was trained right on him and ready for him to make his next move.

"Is this all?!" James screamed at his foes. "Is that all you have for me?!"

Heller held his hands up above him and they grew to enormous size. Solid black, boulder like fists with thick spikes and an ominous red glow peering through cracks in the skin morphed over his head. His shoulders were now supported by multiple thick sinews to aid in lifting the obviously heavy hammerfists.

He ran forward and everyone with a gun opened fire. His way of fighting was half instinct, half training- all carnage. Every move made was one dedicated to the act of murder on a massive scale. It's what people like him are good at, it's what they are known for, it's what the men in black masks fear. Their bullets laid into him with minor discomfort being their only effect. He ignored each hit by the humvee's explosive rounds like he only had adrenaline pumping through his artificial veins. They had no real stopping power on this monster, and like a gazelle to a lion they were about to be pounced on and devoured. Their Abrams tank assisted with a shot from the main cannon.

He was in the air before it made contact with the ground beneath him. Each weapon aimed upward to take him out of the sky. Heller's hammerfists pulsed with power nearly tripling their mass as he prepared himself to make a crash landing on the blockade. The gunmen below scrambled to get out of his way- most didn't make it.

His fists impacted on the concrete runway causing the ground to buckle and crack. In the same instant red and black, jagged spikes rose up out of the forty-foot wide crater he created and found the bodies of his assailants. The humvees caught in the spiked shockwave exploded from the force and the Abrams tank was sent tumbling. Many were impaled on his groundspikes, those who weren't fell to their deaths from the initial impact launching them upward.

The super soldiers were hardier than their human brethren, however. The spikes struck them with less killing force due to their tougher bodies, allowing them to seize this moment to attack. From Heller's right came a powerful left hook that sent him careening through the organic stalagmites he conjured. He skidded on his shoulder and used the momentum to roll onto his feet. Before he could properly stand, another D-Code came running. Moments before connecting Heller put his arms over his chest to absorb the force from his shoulder check. His back met the thick treads of the tank he ruined causing a major dent in its frame and slid the war vehicle a few feet from the impact.

They were charging him now- like crazed pro wrestlers- coming to get their piece of the former Marine. The one who made it to him first got to feel his boot against his face as James kicked off of him to backflip over the Abrams. Another one tried to catch him on the opposite side and received two heavy blows from his hammerfists to his stomach. The super soldier gasped from the gut shots and fell to his knees clutching his abdomen. With his guard dropped he couldn't defend himself from what came next. The fists came clapping together on both side of his head, crushing his skull and flattening his brain into a wet mess.

Three punches directed at Heller's face were ducked as one of the three remaining soldiers caught up to him. He stumbled and kept from falling by bracing the ground with his hand. The soldier tried for a fourth punch but found Heller's shin connecting with his knee, buckling his leg inward. Again it was half instinct and half training. Each combatant Heller consumed had a history of fighting, whether on the street or through training from government funded institutions. Each win and loss from their experiences was added to him giving him a plethora of techniques to demolish his foes in hand-to-hand. This is something the D-Codes could not understand. They didn't know how outclassed they truly were. The enhanced fighter fell to the ground screaming bloody murder for his crippled limb. Heller took this opportunity to grab hold of the soldier's good leg, put a foot on his opponent's torso and ripped him in half with a mighty pull.

Two down and two more to go.

* * *

 **1423 Hours**

 **Downtown Los Angeles, California**

 **Unspecified Building**

 **Street Level**

A convoy of dark colored Military vehicles parked in the lot of an average looking warehouse in the industrial district of Los Angeles. Several heavily armed troopers rushed out of their seats and took positions around the line of humvees. Santos stepped out of the middle vehicle with the doctor in tow.

"P-please, not so hard!" Dr. Myers begged. Santos tightened his grip in retaliation.

Deacon came out the other side of the humvee and rushed to open the security door in front him.

"This is research area OS-A." He said while getting his hand scanned by a console at the door. "It is our backup lab and is to be used as your safe room."

Deacon held the door open allowing Santos to shove the doctor into the stairwell. Myers caught himself before he fell down the flight of metal steps.

"A lab? Here?" Myers questioned, fixing his lab coat.

"Yes. We still expect you to do your work, Dr. Myers. As you know we do not, for any reason, slow down our studies. Go down."

The group made their way down the stairwell and through another metal door. It opened to a well-lit and highly spacious warehouse floor, where several men and women in lab coats were working machinery, and armed guards stood positioned at different corners. In a rather specially cordoned-off area was a row of cages. One set marked 'DEAD' that had several mutated looking individuals clawing at the air around them. In another set of cages was a group of average looking people who stood around dazed and confused as if they were drugged; their cages were marked 'VARIABLE'. The final set was normal people crying or screaming obscenities or pleading for freedom. They were marked as 'CONTROL'.

They continued down the catwalk to the stairs leading to the ground floor. Being of higher rank, the instant Deacon and Santos made contact with the main floor they were saluted by the guards. Deacon gave them the order of "As you were." and they settled back into their guarding stances.

"These people have been here since the beginning. They have examined your works. You will cooperate with them until you are called back to the main building." Deacon informed.

Myers frantically looked about him. He saw everything he ever worked on being analyzed and displayed on screens and clipboards. The other researchers dropped samples into vials and put human flesh under microscopes, unconcerned with the arrival of the man whose work they were studying. He held his head in anxiety and paced around the room. He ground his teeth hard and breathed slow, heavy breaths.

"No, no, no!" he shouted.

Multiple rifles came up his way from his outburst. Deacon, annoyed by the doctor's display, motioned for the soldiers to lower their weapons. The doctor marched furiously towards Deacon.

"This isn't right! This. Is. Not. Right." he said through bared teeth.

"Problem, doc?" Deacon asked with Santos stepping up close behind him to make a move if needed.

"Yes, there is a problem. These people... these... they're looking at my notes. My notes! They should not be allowed to work on my projects- on my life's works!"

"I am positive they are skilled enough-"

"It's not about their skill, Deacon. It's about my comfort. I let no one, not even the people I have worked with for decades look at my notes, nor do I allow them to perform any of my experiments. Every advancement we have made on DX-1120 is because of me and me alone! Too many people in one lab leads to disaster, I have seen it! We outsourced a large portion of my findings to McMullen and look at what happened! If Blackwatch wants perfection then they should allow me to do this job my way!"

Deacon spoke sternly and cold, "That is highly classified information, Dr. Myers. Refrain from referencing said events. Now back on the subject of your assistants, you cannot complete these projects on your own. We hired these people to do the grunt work while you focus on the big picture. These advancements you've made are remarkable, but they are progressing slowly. We need-"

"You need to allow me to do this on my own. Remember, that Mercer fellow you all were praising a few years ago? Mercer was a hack! He had no craftsmanship! No true design plan for the virus! Not like me. He made it deadlier sure, but anyone with a PhD. could have done that. I, however, could have taken it further if they hadn't pushed for it to be moved to the East Coast!"

"You are speaking on highly classified-!"

"Of course I'm speaking out against this! This is my livelihood. My purpose. You can not expect me to-"

The doctor froze when he realized a service pistol was touching the center of his forehead. Deacon, the man he normally observed as very calm and collected was fuming.

"Interrupt me one more goddamned time!" Deacon roared.

Everyone looked over at the commotion then turned away disinterested. Threats of execution had become commonplace to them by this point. Santos stood unaffected as always, however, Dr. Myers was quivering in his loafers. This may be the time he pressed Deacon too far and he could pay for it.

Deacon spoke slowly with his words dripping with venom,"If there is anything I hate more than procedures being broken or confidential information being leaked, it is being interrupted! Do not do this again doc, or I will end you."

Deacon lowered his weapon back into its holster and composed himself, almost instantly switching back to his more regal tone and expression.

"We will check on you in oh-nine-hundred hours. Do as much as you can here, Myers... _with_ the people here."

With that the two walked away to return to their convoy. Myers, still shaken from the threat of being shot, kept his head low, but his tightly balled fist showed his outrage. He was still furious about having to work with unworthy peons. He had to share all of his discoveries with people less qualified than he was. This is something he could not accept. Even with his old team he would never have them do anything more than collect samples and bring him files or coffee. He couldn't work like this. He's been with Blackwatch for over forty years, building for them death plagues and mutated steroids. All he asked was that he be able to work to his preferences. This was not what he signed up for.

* * *

 **1423 Hours**

 **Lompoc, California**

 **Vandenberg Air Force Base**

 **Runway**

 **Topside**

The audible pops and the slack of the body let him know that the deed was done. It would be impossible for the super soldier to continue to fight with his head twisted in a complete one-eighty degree fashion. He tossed the corpse aside with great prejudice. Now there was only one soldier left, and that trooper's shattered hand wasn't enough to deter him from the fight. Heller stepped menacingly towards him and the soldier stood his ground. He wasn't afraid, but with everything that happened he should've been. As Heller got closer the soldier lead with a haymaker.

It wasn't difficult for him to counter with a lean to the side and a powerful uppercut to the jaw. The soldier fell onto the hard, blood-soaked concrete with a shattered mandible added to the list of his slowly regenerating injuries. Blood was pooling inside his face mask and leaked down his uniform. It was over for him now.

Heller was in the air again and he put his forearms together. The hammerfists tangled together, fusing into one solid, round mass that covered the full length of his body and the flesh hardened into thick studs of bone. He dropped all his weight behind this shield and collided with the downed combatant. Blood burst from under him like a juicy cockroach under an unforgiving boot. Then came the feeding tendrils to pull in the bigger chunks of the crushed carcass. With that final blow, the second wave of infantry was killed and all of James' injuries were repaired.

'Should've ran motherfucker.' He thought to himself.

His stolen memories told him if he entered the main building he could get all the way down to the holding cells with a few flights of stairs and an elevator ride. He morphed into a Blackwatch uniform and made his way inside. If he was lucky he could get to Pariah and end this in under a day. If not he'd probably have to fight his way to him. Either way, nothing was going to stop him. Just a few more minutes and this whole building and everything in it will come crashing down.


	3. Chapter 3- Field Testing

**[AN:** If you like what you have read so far, please do me the courtesy of leaving a review. Any questions, compliments or suggestions you may have are totally welcomed, and I will get back to you. Don't forget to share the story if you enjoy it with your friends, family, and pets (I'm hungry for visitors). Thanks again and enjoy. **]**

* * *

 **1423 Hours**

 **Lompoc, California**

 **Vandenberg Air Force Base**

 **60 Meters Below Ground**

 **Research Bay C-01 E-Code Labs**

"Seal off everything! Do you hear me?! Everything!" Pratchett roared into his radio. "He cannot get to the child! He mustn't!"

The stomping boots of gun-toting killers went passed him in the opposite direction. They were going to throw themselves at the intruder in hopes of stopping him cold. Pratchett prided himself on how well trained his branch of fighters were, but he knew they would not survive an encounter with that thing upstairs. He has seen the videos, read the reports and heard the radio logs. The thing in his house is not capable of being stopped by what they currently have going at him. The words of former Colonel Rooks came to mind, "fighting them is a lost cause".

The General didn't believe so, for his secret weapon for the virus threat was just a few feet away. His hurried jog down the concrete hallways leads him to the research area he most favored. It housed the fruits of his association's labors and would lead him to bigger and better things. With their advancements on the DX-1120 strain of the Blacklight virus, he'd be able to not only fight off the more vicious infected forms, but he'd be given even more reign over Blackwatch operations. He would be given more power in the ranks; to oversee operations and make sure they ran according to his design. The brass has not witnessed what lied behind the metal doors his keycard opened. If they did, he knew they'd beg him to push harder, maybe even give him his fourth star. Field-testing is all that held back his rewards. Desperate times like this, however, call for desperate measures. The field-testing would be now.

The research room was practically made of metal. The walls, ceiling, and floor were solid sheets of steel. Multiple display windows fogged over with a light blue mist, aligned the walls with monitoring devices connected to them. A single console was stationed in the middle of the room, with an assortment of switches lining the top and buttons across the bottom. The handful of researchers turned to their General with anxiety.

"Sir, are—are we under attack?" a scrawny, glasses wearing lab coat asked.

"Yes, we are," The General replied continually walking through the room. "We are deploying the E-Codes."

"B-but, sir," another researcher said. "We don't know what could happen if they are out of their pressurized environments. They could be unstable!"

"That's true! Even Dr. Myers was unsure of the short-term effects!" Another jumped in.

It was only a glare from the muscle-bound veteran that silenced the opposition. General Pratchett was not one to accept backtalk, especially from non-combatants. If he had brought his service pistol with him, he would have classically executed the two dissenters to leave a message to the rest of the crew.

"Deploy them—now!" He commanded.

In a hurry, they took to their workstations and went to task. Fingers nervously tapped on keyboards and switches were flipped.

"Venting holding chambers," stated a scientist at the main control module.

The observation windows in the room slowly lost their baby-blue colored fog and several fully clothed men inside stood up from their benches, and bunk beds.

"Contaminant clear," a technician at a wall monitor said followed by the rest of his colleagues at the other monitors.

The men in the holding rooms put on their respective helmets and gas masks that completed the Blackwatch uniforms and stood ready at the thick glass covering.

"Releasing E-Code test subjects forty through fifty-five into main chamber."

The view windows slid upward into the ceiling and over a dozen E-Codes, as they were called, stepped out and onto the metal flooring of the research area. They varied in height but were similar in muscular build. However, on their backs, running down the length of their spine, was a metal casing. It was thin enough to sit between their shoulder blades, yet protruded a few inches outward and was designed in and overlapping oval pattern. The segmented design allowed for flexibility, but it also served an important function. Clear tubes connected to the spinal casings were also attached to their neck muscles. The soldiers flinched as the spine implants vibrated against them, circulating the blue colored concoction that keeps them active, through the tubing and into their necks. Once it filtered through, they stood stoically again, awaiting their orders.

"As of now you are our last line of defense against a Runner threat," Pratchett boomed while marching up the line of super soldiers. "He is within these very walls! Last I heard he was observed on Level- 32B. Five of you will stop him from getting any further down these floors! We do not know if he is working alone, so we must protect all of our assets! So that means two of you are with me, the rest will move to several off-site facilities! He is not to make it to the holding cells and he is not to make it to our VIP! Do I make myself clear?!"

"Sir, yes sir!" his enhanced fighters yelled back.

"Move out!" Pratchett commanded.

In blurs of dark black and streaks of blue light, the first five soldiers ran out the lab. The General himself was wide-eyed at the sheer agility and enthusiasm they showed. If what he was told of their strength was true, then they will be more than a match for their target.

* * *

 **1430 Hours**

 **Lompoc, California**

 **Vandenberg Air Force Base**

 **30 Meters Below Ground**

The fire in his head was more intense than it has ever been. With each continual set of stairs down the confines of the base, his head would pound and the flames of the hivemind would increase. Pain was a numbed feeling to him when it was physical. He was accustomed to it and his infected flesh could adapt to all outside threats. However, when it came to mental assaults, there was no way for him to defend against it. Someone as in-tune with the virus such as Pariah could wage an attack within Heller's mind with little resistance.

His face was scowled as he pushed himself through the pain. He was close to the boy, the anguish in his brain attested to that fact. He couldn't tell if it was from the child's fear or just proximity, but the hivemind was becoming more violent. The voices that haunted his psyche were no longer a riot of pleading and persuasion, but a rolling ball of anger and hate. Constant screams, not of pain, but of pure malice boiled into one echo of a beast like roar.

As he came down the last flight of stairs under the main building, he found gigantic metal double doors in front of him. This thick blockade shielded the elevator to the research bay below his feet. Private Miller's memories lead him here, but he had no clearance to go down it. Even the super soldier he consumed was not authorized to go beyond this point. Only high ranking combatants and those who work directly with the virus could go down this shaft. James would not know what would be beyond this area, but that wouldn't stop him from completing his mission.

Metal bent and whined as the ex-Marine dug his fingers into the several feet thick steel. He parted the doors to the flare of sparking hydraulic locks and screeching gears. As he made an opening for himself the expansive lift went into free fall; a fails-afe to keep unwanted guests from descending further. This could not deter someone made like him. He fell into the elevator shaft and followed behind the plummeting people-mover. It had to have been a hundred feet before he came to a stop on top of the elevator itself, his massive weight crushing the metal rectangle into and unusable shape.

As he pried open the second set of elevator doors he was greeted with the blare of several dozen machine guns. The concrete hall in front of him was literally full of soldiers all firing upon him blocking his path to the final entrance into the labs. The shower of thousands of projectiles ricocheted off of him, not even close to hindering his movement. Soon all guns clicked empty and Heller moved forward.

He came into the hallway to the frantic reloading of the infantrymen, the chain-feeders to their weapons did not allow for a speedy rearming. As he walked toward the men with his head low and eyes full of anger, he morphed his arms into his tendril weapons and threw them forward. The confidence many held due to their numbers and heavy arms instantly vanished when the viral beast began his maelstrom of dismemberment. Each victim screamed as their bodies were attached to each other or portions of the hall and the tension of the infected ropes ripped them apart. Heller continued down the densely packed corridor removing each soldier out of his way with the assault of his tendrils. They'd back away to finish reloading, but before they could get another shot off he'd be on them and tearing them asunder. He was more than halfway down the long stretch of corridor before the remaining few began firing. The result was the same as before, the bullets sparked off of him useless, and he took their limbs and lives from them. Behind the Blacklight infected being was nothing but a massacre of human bodies and blood. Each victim was strung up by black and red vines of death, that held them motionless in mid-air.

He cleared through his opposition with the ease of a hot knife through butter, so he was not intimidated when another group of soldiers stood in his way to the next door.

"This is as far as you're going to get, bitch," said an average looking combatant with the addition of blue glowing tubes.

James Heller raised an eyebrow. Clearly these guys did not see what he just did to their friends. With a dance of flesh his tendriled hands became long serrated finger blades and he pounced forward. He was bewildered to find the glowing troopers were speedy enough to step to avoid his swipes. A powerful kick connected across his chest and sent him down the opposite end of the bloodied corridor. He rebounded to his feet, but was greeted with a flurry of punches by three different assailants literally climbing over each other to get a hit in.

Heller's bone shields came up to absorb the blows, but the fighters were quicker than he anticipated. One made it around his defense and delivered a heavy chin uppercut tumbling him back into the elevator shaft. These guys were strong- stronger than he was used to fighting when dealing with Blackwatch. Their hits weren't just bruising him like with the regular super soldiers. They were actually breaking his bones and bleeding him on the inside and out.

Heller groaned his way to his feet and came out of the elevator doors.

"You must be the new models. The E-Codes," James mumbled out with shattered, missing teeth and crushed mandible.

"Made to kill bastards like you," one replied.

The broken jaw and ribs were healed and Heller stood tall again, just as the new brand of super soldiers came upon him. They ran on the floor, walls and ceiling avoiding the remnants of their human brethren to get to their mark. Heller was taken aback by their speed, they were even faster than he was used to.

He managed to avoid many of their attempts to strike, passively making his way towards the final entrance as they kicked, punched and jumped at him. His counter swipes were avoided with just as much ease as before for they used the design of their surroundings to their advantage. One ran on the walls and leapt at his shoulder, gripping tightly at the clawed limb. He used his momentum and strength to initiate a judo throw to loosen the skin connecting the shoulder to the abdomen and wrenched the arm free. The now single armed Heller came back onto his feet with a fury. He tried to swipe at the E-Code who just literally disarmed him, but was caught by another combatant who did the same to the other appendage.

The corridor filled with Heller's cry of rage and he made a new pair of bladed hands. His previous pair were tossed aside and the warriors took their fighting stances. He came at the five blue shining experiments with a flurry of angered attacks. His claws came together in a hug-like fashion, trying to separate an opponent's torso from his legs, but they met nothing but air as the fighter moved his body horizontally to avoid the cleavers. A vigorous kick came across James' face before the individual stepped back down on the floor. He hadn't finished reeling back from the blow before another E-Code came flipping over the head of the one that kicked him to give a crushing heel drop to the skull.

"Had enough?" a super soldier asked mockingly as James laid face down with his brainpan exposed.

"It doesn't matter anyway. We're gonna kill you, just for the hell of it," another said.

They grouped closely to him just as he was getting on his knee for support. The pinkness of his brain disappeared under the reformation of his skull and scalp, with the orbital bone in his face falling back into place and his loosened eyeball pulling back into the socket. If there was one thing he had on them it was probably his ability to heal. Although they were close to being as physically capable as him pound for pound, he had the edge in enduring damage. However, if this kept up any longer he may lose too much mass and his restorative properties will be of no use.

A jarring right hook busted back in his newly made eye, and a left jab caved in his nose. They were pummeling him before he could fully make it to his feet to keep him from getting back into fighting condition. Double knee strikes to his chin made him fall over again and slouch against the cold steel of the lab doors. His blood smeared onto the entrance and pooled down beneath him.

"We got him on the ropes boys! Let's finish this fuck!" screamed an E-Code as he charged towards the downed ex-Marine.

His comrades stood stunned as their leading bruiser inadvertently impaled himself on an outstretched arm-blade. It was over five feet long and penetrated through his gut severely damaging the spine implant. Heller looked his kill in the eyes as he slipped into his death throes. The tubes connected to his neck lost their shimmer as the fluid emptied out of him. Luminous, blue blood poured from the mask of the impaled E-Codes and drizzled from his stomach wound onto the murderous blade. His remaining moments passed from rapid trembling and gasps to a limp hang on the end of the out held arm-weapon. Then came the hungering tendrils of James' being, to pull in the carcass and feed upon his cells.

* * *

The memories came to like they always do; in a segment of images, movements, and voices.

"You have been hand chosen by me for this new program of super soldier injection!" screamed General Pratchett.

Syringes entered the skin of several soldiers, infecting them with the Blacklight Virus.

"You will become our swords and shields against all runner threats!"

A vat of the blue glowing serum is shown dispersing in mist form and surgery images of the backbone modifications.

"The boot of Blackwatch will stamp out any infected foes that try to destroy us."

The new version of the soldiers breaks the neck of a Hunter, an infected beast Heller is familiar with.

"You are our best! You are our finest! You are our knights in the crusade!"

Fifteen enhanced troopers stand erect with saluting hands held high, they reply to their General, "Sir, yes sir!"

Pratchett giving the mission objectives on stopping Heller are also shown before the memories fade away.

* * *

All that remained was the indigestible spine pack which laid mangled on the floor. The knowledge he gained from the overly cocky E-Code was invaluable. He now knew their origins, duties, weaknesses, and tactics. They came all at once like always, hoping their number advantage would keep the battle in their favor. However, Heller was now in a better position to fight with his deeper understanding of their restraints. He ducked the first punch that impacted on the entrance behind him and swayed pass the next mix of strikes from the following soldiers. As the last opponent came into reach he sliced at him with the blade arm. Like before the nimble foe dodged each hit until the arm blade elongated and became the whipfist. The design of the weapon allowed for Heller to coil it in air to strike at multiple points. The super soldier found himself soaring through the air with nothing below his shoulders intact as the serrated limb diced through several parts of his body.

Furiously another blue, glowing operative, jumped into the fray and front kicked Heller in the chest. As he stumbled he threw the whip forward to claim another kill. Like ninjas, they avoided the snaking weapon by using the walls and ceiling to maneuver around the area. A flying knee met the studded bone of the shield, breaking the tibia, kneecap and most of the femur as it impacted. Then rose up a clawed hand to sever the leg entirely. Blue blood mixed with the red that was left by the human troopers as the amputated super soldier fell in agonizing horror. His screams were silenced by a boot crashing down on his skull and he too was consumed for sustenance.

The remaining two tried to stay together as best they could, hopping over one another to strike, pushing each other out of the way of hits and coming in from different angles to fight. However, James' quickly changing physique gave him more than enough options to keep up and even counter all of their moves. He may have underestimated their prowess on their first meeting, but now the fight was going his way. They were close to matching him in speed, but they could not react fast enough to his ever changing weapons. He couldn't see their faces, but he knew they were panicking under their masks. Their shots were no longer assertive and confident but were now frantic and rushed leaving him with easy openings to take. As both agents tried to punch Heller they were stopped cold by his big, monstrous hammerfists colliding with theirs. A shower of blood and bone sprayed across the hall walls as both fighters lost a limb.

"You were doomed from the fuckin' start!" Heller said. "You're nothing but cheap knock-offs!"

His hammerfists came crashing down on the concrete floor and the shockwave of spikes ran down the length of the hall. The last two super soldiers were engulfed in the rush of groundspikes, which clashed with the steel door. The spikes retracted into the ground and Heller made his way to the now open entrance unhindered. The area was very large inside, with wires and metal covering the walls and ceiling like most areas of the base. The huge monitor screens several yards in front of him displayed video feeds of multiple areas of the base and even the still smoking crash site of the helicopter he rode in on. To his left and right were areas for communications and defense, but not a single living person was around. His stolen memories told him that most have left the facility already, however the child was being held down a few more passageways. He went to his left following not only his memories but the pull of the hivemind that still burned in he skull. In a few short moments he would come face to face with Pariah, and end the suffering in his mind for good.


	4. Chapter 4- Hot Pursuit

**[** **A/N** : It's been a while since my last chapter so I hope you all enjoy this one. This a very important part of the story so take it all in. Now a little thing on action: I feel as though Prototype has a very story heavy audience- which is good. That makes for very in depth and descriptive tales. But the series is also heavily action based. I read a lot a stories where action takes a backseat, done in a way where the characters have outlandish new abilities making them Mary Sues or is nonexistant altogether. That is fine, but I think it ignores a key part of the series. Prototype is 50/50 story and action. So I'm going to have a lot of fighting of a graphic nature in my fic. Hopefully you all can enjoy reading it as much as I do thinking it up. Again, review are appreciated and you will receive responses. Thank you.

* * *

 **1530 Hours**

 **Lompoc, California**

 **Vandenberg Air Force Base**

 **30 Meters Below Ground**

 **Secured Route**

An enormous convoy of over twenty armored vehicles are idle in an underground holding station as everyone feverishly packed up as much as they could. Pratchett sat uncomfortably inside the chassis of an Armoured Personnel Carrier that was centered within the line. He was surrounded by a few of his gun-toting men who nervously huddled together inside the carrier. The tension in the air was thick, for the General had just squeezed his radio into a broken mess after the squad of E-Codes he sent after the intruder didn't respond to his calls. He kept his eyes low and elbows on his knees with laced fingers up to his nose. His men have seen him pissed off before, but he cannot show them that he was also nervous from the insanity of their base being attacked.

"Radio", Pratchett grumbled.

Without hesitation, every soldier pulled the radios off of their respective vests and held them in front of the General to take. He took up the one closest to his right and tweaked the settings until they matched his personal frequency.

"Eagle Eye report. Over," he said into the receiver.

"No movement topside, Throne. Over."

He leaned back into his seat and sighed. The stress made Pratchett bite his lip so hard that the other veterans would have seen blood if the interior was lit well enough.

"After evac, initiate Operation Castle Sweep. Over."

Frantic looks were shared between his men.

"Roger that, Throne. Castle Sweep is a go after your dismissal. Over."

Pratchett closed his eyes. They have ran drills for a day like this, but they never thought it'd come. They are motherfucking Blackwatch, the deadliest organization to be American funded. Yet they are being toppled by one man of their own creation. If the super soldiers couldn't stop him, maybe this will.

"Right Hand to Throne. Right Hand to Throne. Doctor Myers has been seated. Over" the communications device blared out in Deacon's voice.

"Roger that Right Hand. Hold position at E-Base Zero One for our arrival. Over."

"What would be your ETA, Throne? Over."

The disgruntled old, veteran raised his wrist to his face, but couldn't make out the time in the darkness. If he was a little late it wouldn't matter. He was the man in charge after all.

"ETA is seventeen hundred hours, Right Hand. Over."

"Roger that, Throne. We will hold position at E-Base Zero One for you arrival, but may I ask why you are coming, sir? Over."

"Castle Sweep has been initiated Right Hand. Prep your main bay for the VIP. Over."

"Damn it. What happened after we left? Over."

"I will conduct a briefing when I get there. Over."

"Roger that, Throne. But what if whatever it is you're purging survives? Over."

"We do what we always do, son. We hold the Red Line. Over."

* * *

 **1530 Hours**

 **Lompoc, California**

 **Vandenberg Air Force Base**

 **30 Meters Below Ground**

 **Cell Block D**

Hurried boots stomped down the halls of the metal jail cells as Blackwatch soldiers rushed to intercept their enemy. Their shadows moved over the view window in Rook's jail cell and the distant echo of gunshots alerted him to the gravity of the situation. Something was loose and it was pissed. Two guards stood in front of his door to contain him, should he find a way to free himself from his bindings, yet they stood uncomfortably in their boots. The sounds of battle grew louder and bloodier as man after man was cut down by whatever was making its way down the halls.

"Shit, man. They need backup."

"Don't worry about it. Orders were to stay here until further notice. I'm not being shitcanned by Deacon or the General for disobeying orders."

A distant explosion shook them where they stood and even rattled the former Colonel.

"Shit," the apprehensive guard said.

"Grenade. That should do it," the other replied. "Job done."

A light cloud of darkened smoke poured from the direction of the commotion, yet not a single gunman came back.

"They're not returning to post. What the hell is going on?"

"Didn't I say not to worry?"

"Dude, seriously. That could be an escaped test subject or a loose training infected."

They didn't have to guess anymore after a clawed figure pounced out of the smoke and ripped through their abdomens, inadvertently making three long tears into the metal of the cell door.

"Fuck," former Colonel Rooks yelped out.

He held his breath realizing his mistake. Whatever killed those men definitely heard him and was going to make him the next victim. Metal like finger-blades, crept into the fresh tears and wrenched the door upwards, removing it from its bindings. Rook's eyes were closed tight and he braced for the incoming slaughter.

"No. No," he yelled out as he turned his face away from the figure that stomped into his prison.

"I don't believe it," a familiar voice said to him.

His eyes opened fast and he looked at his supposed killer face to face. His brow furrowed and his teeth were bared, now that he realized James Heller was standing in front of him again.

"Y-you," he growled out.

"Me," he replied. "Thought you'd be dead." the walking viral being mocked as his arms shifted their mass back into human limbs so he could fold his arms.

"Execution was today. Thanks to you."

"I didn't do this to you, Rooks. You did it to yourself."

The former Colonel wiggled in his seat which declined him his frustrated punches.

"Did you come to kill me or something? To fix a mistake you made in New York?! Huh?"

"I'm here to kill alright. But not you."

Heller turned his back to the shackled man from his past and stepped away.

"W-wait! Free me! You can't leave me here!"

"Yes, I can motherfucker."

Heller was more than ten feet away from the cell when Rooks screamed out, "I gave you your child, you bastard!"

Rook's head was low, and his breathing was heavy. The shadow of his former enemy rose over him as he stepped back in the cell.

"My head is burning and I just ate a few science experiments. I'm not in a good mood." Heller said. "Do not make me regret this."

Only a slight tug was needed to separate the chain links which bound the ex-operative and he rose up on his aching legs. Heller marched out of the cell and continued on the route that the hivemind was pulling him and Rooks picked up one of the fallen guard's rifle and staggered along.

"You haven't told me who you're here to kill, Heller."

James' face twisted into a scowl as he came into another hall rowed with holding cells. Like land mines, every step exploded pain into his mind which his healing factor couldn't soothe. Now he had an annoying sidekick in his ear to add to his frustration. His question was one he was hesitant to answer, no one truly needs to know why he's there, but it's not like the fallen soldier would be able to oppose him if he disapproved.

"Everyone and Pariah," he grunted.

"Good," Rooks replied.

"Good? I expected you to try and talk me out of killing your friends."

"These are not my friends, you asshole. I'm done with Blackwatch. Seeing them burned to the ground- along with their little prodigy- would be the best severance package I could receive."

"So you flipped, huh," Heller mocked with snapping fingers, "Just like that?"

"This was many years in the making. This whole damn organization is fucked up from top to bottom. The straw that broke the camels back was Mercer and yourself. The brass believe we're untouchable; unbeatable. They're wrong. And even after the death of thousands of fighters and millions of civvies, they still can't see that. Now I just want to go home and leave all of this behind me."

"How fucking noble of you."

"Don't you dare try and act superior to me, Heller. I know who you are. You're a selfish killer, just like me. Just like most people here."

The majority of the walk was silent after that, with the exception of a few security doors needing to be broken open. Though it was still unnaturally silent. Rooks has been up and down these halls on a normal day and they would be packed with soldiers and lab coats. They have made it through multiple checkpoints unassaulted. This was not the usual atmosphere of this place. Then it clicked in Rooks' mind that it would only be this vacant is people were evacuating. There is only one reason they are allowed to do that.

"Fuck," the vet exclaimed and started sprinting. "We have to move- fast!"

"What is this, Rooks," Heller asked catching up to his former enemy.

"Castle Sweep!"

Heller searched his mind for the definition of these words, but only had past rumors overheard by a few lackeys from their superiors. A large worker layoff was the talk being passed around, but he doubted a few firings would have the Colonel in a panic.

"The fuck is that," he questioned.

"It's a scorched earth policy is what it is! They're moving off-site and blowing this bitch up!"

"Shit," Heller yelled and in one swift movement scooped up the Colonel in his arms and sprinted with his inhuman speed towards the pull of the hivemind, which was becoming the slightest bit less intense.

* * *

 **1544 Hours**

 **Lompoc, California**

 **Vandenberg Air Force Base**

 **30 Meters Below Ground**

 **Secured Route**

As they came into the still open gates of the underground munitions and vehicle bay, they saw that the heavily grouped convoy was already close to being a mile ahead down the right side tunnel. A few humvees were left behind. Rooks took the opportunity of commandeering one. Just as he switched it on the ground shook from the first wave of explosions from the topside.

"You can get at them later! We need to-"

He looked over and saw that the infected being was out of earshot, running full speed in pursuit of his targets down the right tunnel.

"Fuck it," Rooks said and sped off down the left tunnel to escape decimation.

Each step under his foot cracked the pavement and propelled him faster and faster towards the tail end of the caravan. James was close to two-hundred miles an hour, but the convoy's head start still put them a good ways in front. As the tunnel began raising upwards, natural light from the sun illuminated the exit and welcomed the black painted vehicles to the highway. The armored trucks, APCs and tanks rose up out of a barricaded tunnel on the side of the one-oh-one highway, running down the wooden stop posts that kept civilians out.

As the humvee that ended the line pulled out, the tunnel erupted in a display of fire and smoke from the detonation of the stockpile of weapons deep inside. However, Heller came flying out of the exit, fire eating away at his back and brought his hammerfists down onto the humvee taking it out in one crushing hit. The boom alerted all others in the line of his presence and the swivel guns came pointing his way.

"Tango is on our ass! I repeat, tango is on our ass!" blared over the radios of everyone in the line.

Inside his APC, Pratchett was furiously banging his fist into the metal chassis until it went numb. With his good hand, he pressed the radio to his beard and growled out, "All guns to the tail! All guns to the tail! Eagle Eye move to Day Care and cover our asses!"

"Roger that, Throne. Moving to Day Care for suppression."

James was taking bullets to the face and torso as he caught up to the second humvee. The Gatling gun thundered heavy rounds into his flesh, but his forward speed was unhindered. As he got closer to the vehicle the driver began to swerve back and forth to avoid him making contact, but his actions were to no avail. With one hand James lifted the back of the military truck flipping it forward. The gunner in the rooftop swivel was immediately crushed between the heavy landrover and the road as everyone else inside was violently tossed about.

In the chaos, Heller skillfully rolled over the decommissioned truck and got up to the next one which was now launching grenades at him. The biomass generated shield came up on his arm and blocked the intense barrage of colliding munitions. Bullets were one thing, but explosive payload were still a threat to Heller's biomass reserves. He wouldn't lose much from direct hits, but a lucky shot could topple him, allowing the convoy a better chance at escaping.

The hardened shield was holding strong absorbing each blast without fear of cracking, but James needed to move on. As grenades exploded against him, he swung his unshielded hand upwards. In an instant it became the whipfist and he pulled it down bisecting the gunner and the vehicle in his path.

"Two down, sir. Over," the radios called.

"Move Day Care to the front! Wide defensive wall! Eagle Eye, where are you?!" The General rasped out.

"Eagle Eye is in pursuit. Over." replied the radio.

Ahead of Heller the line of trucks, APCs and tanks began to spread. No longer a single line, but now four groups each taking up a lane of their own, two of which riding on the oncoming traffic side. Most notably of which a black semi-truck, with heavily plated trailer pushed ahead of the group and took the lead. This was it. Heller's hivemind pointed right to this truck and it was flaming. It was the most intense it ever was, and it was clear why; Pariah was inside.

The road in front of James burst into dust clouds from high-powered bullets. He looked behind him and found three Apache gunships were gaining on him and dispersing as many rounds as possible.

"You won't stop me," he roared. "None of you are safe!"

The helicopters came in closer and each shot a tank destroying missile at their single target. He jumped in time to avoid the first explosive, but the second one got him in air. He angled himself so as to fall back onto his feet facing the convoy, but just as he touched the ground, the final third rocket took him off his feet. He rolled and tumbled a few times before rebounding back onto his boots to the spray of guns from both ends. 'This isn't going to work' he thought. 'Sandwiched between two walls of death.' Everything around him within a ten-foot radius was being obliterated by bullets. Every now and again a few lucky round would clip off a few miniscule amounts of flesh which his body would replace. If he was going to get to that truck he'd need to do it now, for he does not know what may be in store once they get further down the highway. Another fleet of helicopters could be waiting, or even a line of artillery cannons could be in position.

The tanks in front swiveled their heavy cannons around and took aim. Heller instinctively morphed on his shields as this offered a decent opportunity to turn the tides of battle. With massive booms, they fired their rounds. It was a movement so fast and precise that normal human eyes couldn't follow it. One arm went up over his head and the other went outward to the side in a swatting motion. He got the rounds right on the underside of their bodies and ricocheted them off his buckler like protection. The middle heli above him could not react to the tank round which was now coming directly for its cockpit. The other went to the left and took out the far side of the convoy. Each had the same result, explosion then metal husks careening into their comrades. The APC that was struck came across the road divider and broadsided the tank that fired upon Heller. The APC's payload exploded, taking out the tank and few other humvees with it. The helicopter burst, whipping its tail rotor into the one to it's left taking both down into the road. The fight was now on Heller's side with only a single bird on him and an APC, a tank with a couple of trucks, and a semi ahead.

Inside his carrier Pratchett was fuming.

"E-Codes, take him out! Take him out!" he coughed into the radio.

"With pleasure," one replied.

The missiles came raining down on Heller now from the remaining Abrams and the helicopter. His agility kept him from being tagged as he flipped and danced around the road. His speed was paying off as the explosions stopped when he got closer to the convoy. One wrong move and the VIP would be all over the highway. He thought himself in the clear when he got a hand on the trailer door. He was proven wrong when two E-Codes broke through and tackled him into the ground. They clung tightly to him as they rolled in the dirt. Even when they found themselves under the treads off Pratchett's APC they continued to hold on. The convoy left them in the tracks, but the helicopter pulled back to assist.

"Get off of me!" Heller boomed.

And they did. Both jumped away clutching as much of him as they could. One had a large collection of ribs and a lung, while the other came away with an arm and a decent amount of facial tissue. James staggered to his feet as his wounds began healing his mutant looking appearance. Within under a second he mutated back to his prime. He exploded off of his legs trying to continue on with the chase for Pariah, but a super soldier caught up mid jump and delivered a kick that dropped him into the dirt. The other was upon him, coming down attempting a head stomp. Heller's prior fight with these bastards came in handy as it allowed him to avoid the attack with a back roll to his feet. The E-Codes like to keep on the assault, with overpowering numbers, speed and maiming techniques, he rationalized. They are constantly going for blind spots and trying to keep him off balance. If he could keep them both in eye site he will be able to take them. Without the confined space of that hallway, they shouldn't be able to move around as easily either. He's lucky that there are two this time.

They both closed in on him from the front and came with lightning-fast punches, kicks, and chops. He backed away avoiding the hits, ducking, and diving out of their reach, yet they kept the flurries up by flipping over one another and actually throwing each other at him. They came in a second time, but this time he met them half-way. He ducked under an outstretched arm meant to hit his throat like a clothes-line, and gave a heavy punch to the one in the rear. The soldier flew several dozen meters and collided with a tree on the side of the highway. His back made a very sizeable dent in the thick bark, but worst of all his spinal gear had been damaged. The casing was cracked and leaking his blue serum all down his uniform and into the soil under his feet. As the soldier looked up it was over him. He got to see just as the bladed end of Heller's whipfist embedded itself into his face which extended a few inches out the back of his head. Heller threw his arm up to the buzz of the Apache's chain gun and whipped the E-Codes corpse into the rotors.

The air was clear after the gunship came to a crash down into the neighboring hill. The final E-Code came at Heller with a maddening roar. He landed three punches and a kick, but when he went for another he found his leg pinned under James' arm. The hammerfists came on and the super soldier became frantic. He punched at Heller's face with all his might but each broken nose, missing eye and dislocated jaw was being healed before the next punch could be landed. James put his meaty, gorilla-like hand over the screaming E-Codes head and squeezed. Like a rather large blueberry, the supersoldier's head was juiced to the sound of a deep, wet crunch. The skull was crushed and the illuminated fluid that kept him active gushed from between the fingers. He was then fed on for information and mass.

* * *

"If all else fails, we are going for Castle Sweep." Pratchett's voice said as images of him and his two E-Code guards followed him. "We are going to blow this place up with him inside, and rebuild afterward. We can hold the child in Day Care until the time is right to move him again."

"Day Care, sir?" the consumed E-Code asked.

"It's a truck fitted to hold contagions of this magnitude. We'll keep it in the truck tucked away in the hills for however long it takes. I want you to to ride with it to keep it secure."

"Understood, sir."

The truck's door opens and inside the Pariah child is tied to a padded metal gurney inside a thick glass cube that takes up much of the back of the trailer.

"So damn sad. It's just a kid," says the other E-Code.

"Nah, man. That thing is almost as old as Pratchett and just as deadly. Given the opportunity it'd kill us all."

"Shit. Then I take back what I said about this being sad."

"My time is now," says a multitude of whispering voices.

"Did you say something," questioned the consumed soldier.

"Not me man. I heard that shit too."

* * *

 **1610 Hours**

 **California**

 **Highway 101**

 **Open Road**

Pratchett didn't bother calling for reports from what was left of Eagle Eye and his super soldiers. If they survived they would call him, and since it had been a good ten minutes since they departed ways, it must mean the worst has happened. No matter, as long as that infected fuck was off his ass, he'd be able to regroup in LA with Deacon and Santos to better combat this threat. In a few short minutes, Day Care will split off into the barren hills keeping the VIP from any habitable areas and no enemy is going to be able to locate them far out into the hills. Especially not one man.

"Sir," a APC operator called out. "Day Care is signaling for break off."

"Good, good," Pratchett strained out with his raw throat.

"Radio for half of the remaining caravan to accompany them. The rest of us will move-"

The Bradley APC lifted up in the front from the force of Heller's landing on the last tank, jostling everyone inside. The heavy carrier survived the impact and subsequent explosion fairly well. Outside of the carrier was another story. Every humvee was totaled or tossed on their side. Some caught fire and were in the stages of blowing up. The Day Care truck fell onto its side screeching as the armored trailer scraped along the ground.

"Why won't he die," Pratchett screamed out from a sore throat.

Everyone was still recovering when Pratchett called out, "Shoot him! Shoot him now!"

The M2 Bradley's Bushmaster cannon aimed squarely at James who still stood on the top of the wrecked tank. He looked at the survived APC just in time to roll out of the way as it opened fire. He came underneath it ducking under its main gun which could not be pointed as far down and dug his fingers into the damaged tread. He used his arm to lift it up tilting the metal beast on one track. Everyone inside fell to the opposite side he was lifting, cursing and yelling in dismay. Using his legs and back Heller hoisted the massive war machine over his head. The engine grinded and the treads spun in a futile effort to get away.

"Out ah'here with that shit," James screamed as he tossed the Bradley as far as he could over a hill several hundred feet up and away.

The distant crash signaled the end of the annoying vehicle and an open path to the end goal. He ignored it throughout much of this chase, but the hivemind and its blaring voice was at an all time feverish intensity. Just one long scream that grew louder and louder with every step to the trailer. The afternoon sun only made part of the inside visible, but he could see clearly the slightly red-tinted eyes of the boy peering through the shadows. Freed from his bindings he sat legs crossed in the glass box made to contain him. His face was expressionless and his hair was dark, but his eerily pale skin made it clear this being wasn't normal.

"You came," the child said in a voice that came from his mouth and from Heller's mind. A whisper that repeated itself three times before trailing off into the rolling scream of the hivemind. "I was so lonely, and you came."

"This isn't a playdate. I'm here to end you." Heller retorted.

The metal groaned under Jame's foot as he stepped deeper into the trailer and towards the glass that held the boy.

"No. Playtime is later," Pariah whisper-spoke.

To someone like Pariah they were unbreakable, but to Heller the reinforced glass was a trivial blockade. He pushed with one hand and it shattered under the force, raining bits of inch thick safety glass all around. He didn't see it when it happened, but he could feel it in his mind. An awkward, unused expression of a mouth stretching from ear to ear. The kid was smiling as the glass fell around him and the fresh outside air met his skin. Before Heller could even react the child was in air and shoving Heller out of the trailer. He tumbled over himself landing on his back flat on the black road, eyes wide with surprise. It was not a normal shove, no, that requires strength. Especially to move someone as heavy as James Heller. This was different. It felt almost like a jump. The hivemind was no longer a screaming ocean in his head. In fact his head was clear for once. But he heard to whispering voice of Pariah giggling all around. He looked down into the trailer and didn't see the kid inside. It was empty. Completely empty. He looked around still laying on his butt wondering how the hell the boy got out of his sight so fast. Another "push" came from behind him sending him flying into a wrecked humvee face first. He stood up as fast as he could and again lost sight of the boy. He growled and used his viral sonar. The orange ring came back empty of a small child. He looked all around to his side and back, but to to no avail as all he found was the giggling of the boy again.

"Where are you," he screamed.

"Inside you," he replied from below.

Heller looked down and saw the under four-foot tall child standing in front of him with both hands deep inside of his stomach. Somehow without him noticing the boy got to Heller and began digging. He couldn't feel the arms, he couldn't feel the searching fingers, but he could feel the build up of two knots. Two balls collecting in the palms of Pariah's hands growing and feeding off of Heller's biomass.

"Wh-what," Heller said in shock. "What are you doing to me?!"

He went for a punch and got nothing but air as Pariah jumped back. James fell to his knees as his tendrils writhed over his body, pulling more from him and giving it to the two masses. He hunched over as blood leaked from his throat and felt the unmistakable feeling of being consumed. In his mind was the laughter of Pariah echoing in his brain as he felt something finally give. Heller screamed as a human arm rose out of him. It was skinless but has rapidly growing muscle as it came out of his back. It grasped around at the air until it found the ground to pull itself out with. A skull then a torso came out of Heller as the skeleton used the traction of the road to get itself out. Right on its heels was another skinless being crawling up and out of him.

"They listen. You don't. I like them more." the boy said as the human figures stood next to him.

The taller one's skin just came through and was now becoming clothing. Boots, jeans a hooded sweater and jacket. The other fixed its skin and made a bodysuit without footwear. Heller gasped and choked while holding himself for stability. He felt emptier than normal. Much less dense as he normally did.

"What did you d-"

He looked up and came face to face with his old foe, Alex Mercer, and Pariah's mother, Elizabeth Greene, all joining hands in a horrific family-like image.

* * *

[ **A/N** : Aw shit, there it is! One of the big points of the story. Keep reading for even crazier moments and to see how the return of the two deadliest infected turns out.]


	5. Chapter 5- The Ending Begins

**1913 Hours**

 **Manhattan, New York**

 **Rundown Apartment Building**

 **3rd Floor Suite**

"I remember so much of our times together. The long walks through the park, being pushed on the swing, staying up late to catch Santa in the act, even though he never brought us any presents- the cheap bastard. I remember always having someone to look after me when I got in trouble. Whether it was from sickness or bullying Alex was always there, always my hero, always my big brother. **  
**

Now I have to stand on my own.

You'd think it'd be easy by now- taking care of myself I mean. We hadn't spoken for a few years after he got his job at Gentek and even when the virus started raging over the city he was still out of the house for hours on end. I had to spend most of my time alone monitoring the web for new info of his actions. Wondering what he was doing, if he'd be safe, hoping he'd come back. I don't know what I want now. The man I read about in the files I've stolen from government servers describe a murderer. A person who cares only for himself. A bio-weapon on two legs who hurts the innocent. It can't be true. That is not the person I grew up with. That is not my brother!

But... it is.

It was.

He told me- straight to my face- his plan. What he wanted to do to every last human on this earth. He fucking told me "This is no one's fault but your own". Want to know the most fucked up part of all of that? He is right! He was right.

It is my fault.

Because just like when we were kids, I would always fuck up somehow, get into big shit and have to have him save me. It hadn't changed at all- the protection- just his methods.

During the first outbreak, I was taken by a monster to Greene's main hive. I don't remember what happened to me in there, all I can recall is burning pain under my skin and waking up with Ragland. Oh God...Ragland. When I finally came to I didn't know where, or even really who I was. I was scared- confused. He tried to help me, to sedate me when I came up screaming and thrashing.

I killed him! Somehow, with my own hands...

I only realized what I did when Alex came in, used his superior strength to hold me down and inject me with the sedative Ragland made. It brought my consciousness back by suppressing the virus' conversion of my mind.

I don't think I'll ever understand what I am, what Heller is, what Alex was. But I know, deep down in my heart, his entire plan to infect the world was for me. The only way I could be safe from Blackwatch, the virus, from myself was if everyone else was like us. In a fucked up way, it makes sense, it does. But that it not what I wanted. That is not what I want!

I just wanted my older brother again! To hold me! To tell me everything would be alright! To help me deal with myself! Not this! Never this!"

Her hands hovered over the keyboard and her fingers quivered in air. Tears struggled to form on her bottom lids, but she held them back. When she lived alone it wasn't rare for her to get a good cry out, then continue on with her day. Her sobs would echo throughout the old, dusty rooms she resided in and no one would be around to make her feel weak for breaking down. Now she must do it discreetly in the darkened room across from Amaya's, lest she wakes the child and have to explain her sorrow.

Her typing continued.

"Amaya is sleep now. That's James Heller's daughter. The other day she saw me cut my hand while slicing an apple. I'm going to have to remember to wear a bandage for a while. I can't have her questioning why I don't have a scar. Like I said before, I have to be the older sibling now. I have to protect someone from the dangers of this fucked up world. I guess that means lying... a lot.

I don't know what I'm going to do. But I have to stay strong. I have to.

For her sake as well as my own."

She moved the mouse over to the save button and clicked. Just in time too, as the creaking of the bedroom door across from her signaled the awakening of Amaya. Dana frantically closed her laptop and stood up from her swivel chair to greet the groggy child.

"H-hey, Kiddo. How was the nap", Dana said.

"It was alright," Amaya replied with a knuckle digging out her eye-crust. "Did daddy come home?"

Dana bit her lip, trying to prevent herself from frowning. "No... he didn't."

"Oh..." Amaya said disappointedly.

It was quiet for more than a few uncomfortable seconds.

"Uhhhhh, ya' hungry? If you want you can have dinner as like a post-nap breakfast?"

The melancholy child nodded her head, but her eyes didn't leave the floor.

"Okay, let's go in the kitchen. I made chicken and peas. You like peas, right?"

* * *

"I don't like Greg," Amaya said, pushing her peas along her plate with a fork. "He pulls my hair, calls me names... he's just mean."

Dana set her plate of food on the table and pulled out her rickety chair. She found it rude to laugh in the young girl's face, but she couldn't hide her amusement.

"They usually do that if they like you. I had a dude like that when I was your age. I took so many dodgeballs to the head that year before it clicked that he was crushing hard," Dana said before scooping up a fork's worth of chicken.

"Yeah, but I don't like him," Amaya whispered under her breath with eyes low.

Dana held her fork on her lip and grinned widely. "I dunno kiddo, looks to me like you do."

The child dropped her fork and shook her head wildly. "No I don't, no I don't!" she exclaimed.

Dana giggled. "Mm-hmm, sure you don't. Wait 'til I tell your pops that you got a boyfriend!"

"No, don't do that! He said I can't date boys until I'm thirty!"

Dana almost spat out her food. The gut heavy chuckles were pouring out.

"Oh my God," she said, catching her breath "you two are hilarious."

Amaya shoveled in mouthfuls of peas and furrowed her brow. "I don't like Greg," she grumbled through her full cheeks.

"It's alright kiddo, I won't tell Muscles that you have a crush. But if you like him, you should let him know. Boys play rough and they don't know how to handle the fairer sex. If you play rough with him back, not only will it confuse him, but it'll also show him that you're fun."

"So I should pull his hair?"

"Maybe not that, but wrestling is easy. Or beat him at video games. That's what I did to get all of my boy-toys."

"Why are boys like that?"

"Girl, I have no idea. I'm more than three times your age and I still haven't figured them out completely. I guess they just naturally like competition. They want to be bigger and better than every other guy they meet. Must be a testosterone thing. But if a girl is around, can take care of herself and can even beat them at things, that is very likable. So in a way, he's testing you to see if you are fun and someone he should date. When it comes to why they need to do everything this way, I couldn't tell you a thing. They're from Mars."

"Yeah, they're weird."

Dana chugged down her glass of the powdered orange juice she made for their dinner.

"So how's school?" she asked followed by a burp.

"Nice one," Amaya replied, referencing Dana's rancid belch. "It's different. I am used to being in a big classroom, but I am still learning a lot. We just got into multiplication."

"Yeah, Mrs. Gleeson was a really good elementary school teacher before all of this craziness. I'm glad she decided to do a home-schooling thing. Me and your father were worried we wouldn't be able to keep you updated on your studies so we got lucky there."

"He worries a lot about me."

"Yeah, that's another thing guys do. They worry too much. But that's how love works." another fork full of food passed through Dana's lips.

"I worry about him too," Amaya said with a lower tone.

Dana raised an eyebrow.

"Why's that," she responded with a hand covering her mouth to keep particles from flying across the table.

"He's always out fighting."

"Oh, right," Dana's voice became low "but he fights for us. To protect us."

"I know," Maya said sipping on her glass of juice. "I just wish he didn't have to. I don't want him to get hurt."

The room became silent, for more than a few uncomfortable moments. Dana was biting her lip as she pondered her next choice of words. The young girl in front her was usually never this melancholy. But it clicked that she was only chipper when her dad was around.

"Uh," Dana began. "Do you like Superman?"

"Yes."

"Then think of it like that. You know your dad has powers, he's super strong, tough, can probably fly if he wanted to..." she said mimicking a bird with her hands.

"Uh-huh." Amaya agreed.

"...and he uses those powers to protect people, just like Superman. And nothing can hurt Superman."

Amaya jumped up in realization, "That's true! Well, except kryptonite."

"Yeah, but your dad isn't weak to kryptonite, plus it doesn't exist."

Amaya laughed, "He always says ribs are his kryptonite."

Dana snickered, "Well the bad guys don't know that so he'll be fine!"

"You're right- nothing can hurt daddy."

* * *

 **1613 Hours**

 **California**

 **Highway 101**

 **Open Road**

If it was anyone else there would have been nothing left but a gory stain on the road, but Heller took the hit fairly well. He was missing an arm and most of his face was caved in, but he endured as best as anyone like him could. The fight against the new Mercer was very strenuous, as he found the hooded viral abomination to be much tougher than he remembered. The strikes he landed barely phased him, his biological blades cut deeper and he could barely keep up with his agility. It's like the guy spent the few months inside of Heller training for a rematch. It was evident he was getting a sadistic satisfaction from their round two, by how meticulously he avoided killing blows. Like a cat playing with its kill, he spent a hefty chunk of the battle swatting, pushing and antagonizing the bald man who killed him.

As Heller struggled to stand with a new arm and face he felt something in him that he hasn't felt since his human days: weak. The battle took its toll on his biomass, as his new face and limb cost him the last of what he could move around to make on the fly repairs. If Alex Mercer tore into him again he'd have to fend him off until his virions split enough times to remake his wounds.

"Feeling empty," Mercer mocked with half-smile and his raised claws dripping of James' blood.

"He is done," Elizabeth Greene, Pariah's mother, spoke in a telepathic whisper-like voice reminiscent of her son's, while watching from the side of the road with the child in hand.

The orange sonar wave James' relied on to find hunting targets came back empty of anything living. Most disturbing of all was the three dangers in front didn't come up at all. He was in a tight spot with no exit. However he is not one to run from a fight. James, if anything, was stubborn.

"I'm not dying here," Heller snarled through heavy breaths. "I killed you once- I can do it again."

Mercer stood unfazed by his words.

"But I don't want to."

Heller raised a heavy arm towards Pariah.

"He did this to you. Wants to do it to me. I have your memories, motherfucker... you wouldn't want any of this. Think about your true self. Think about Dana," he reasoned.

Mercer's cheeky smile became a frown.

"Oh, I have thought of her. Thought about her during the entire planning of the new world. But it _just_ dawned on me that she was the weak link that held me back."

"You don't mean that! It's just him making you-"

"Humans hold us back, Heller! They are frail and small and just cattle to us. They have greed and fear as their main drive for success. They kill each other to stay on top. We don't have to if we listen. We are better than them. We. Are. A. Family."

In that instant, he was jumping at Mercer. They locked hands and struggled to force each other off of their footing.

"Everyday that you live they will try to bring you down! Remember the day I gifted you with this strength?! They had you on a slab! You were a guinea pig to them!"

Heller pushed but only slid the taunting Alex a few feet back.

"They want to study you, to tear open your girl and experiment on her organs! They did it to Greene, they tried it on the boy, and they want to do it to her! Every day that you live, they will come for Amaya. You can end it all by either joining us or laying down to die."

As they looked eye to eye James couldn't help but feel a horrible truth in his words. A truth he tried to avoid. Blackwatch would not stop their march against Heller and by extension Amaya. Just by existing he puts her on the world's most wanted list, depriving her of a normal life. His confidence in his abilities to fight them off never lowered, but he can't deny the advancements they've made. The dreams he had of her going to college, marrying a caring man and mothering some grandchildren may now just be a fantasy he has to hold in his head forever.

But James is very stubborn. He'd go toe to toe with every member of Blackwatch and the mutant freaks they make all at once if it meant guarding his angel. He knows their tricks, their tactics, their drive. The virus on the other hand, was still not fully understood. Each scientist he consumed only had a portion of understanding and even the big man, Alex Mercer, barely understood how his own body worked when James had his experiences at hand. Each day that a biological threat like them lives is another unpredictable, genetic apocalypse waiting to happen- capable of evolving into a rolling storm of death and decay.

"I know for a fact you will hurt her too," James growled.

"But at least then her suffering will have a purpose!"

With a roar, Jame's latched onto Mercer's arms with his feeding tendrils from his forearms. They dug in deep to Mercer's bones and he pulled at the flesh as much as he could to feed. But to Heller's amazement no sustenance was coming to him and Alex stood grinning smugly.

"Now, I have that stubborn DNA too."

Greene cut into the tango with a hard palm to Heller's solar plexus that dislodged his tendrils, shattered his rib cage and sent him into the side of a hill with a rock cracking thump. His vision was blurred, lungs were filling with blood and his strength was practically all but gone. He tried fruitlessly to make a weapon, but his skin just molded into harmless vines that flicked at the dirt and dry grass on the hill at his back. He tried to move his legs, but James' muscles cramped up and gave out, as every recruitable virion that made up his being feverishly went to task trying to reset his sternum. This was it. He was unable to defend himself. Alex, taking it upon himself to be the executioner, walked towards him in slow ominous steps, taking in the image of the battered fighter.

"Playtime ends now," said the voices of Pariah.

Mercer nodded and came over the downed ex-Marine with his signature blade arm raised above his head.

"You disappoint me again, Heller."

* * *

Fire balls, explosions, and black smoke filled the battleground. A flurry of artillery shells rained down on the one-oh-one road like a maddening meteor shower. Across the way, slouched against his shattered APC with the bodies of his crew in the surrounding brush, was the bruised General Pratchett, clutching his radio that he used to call in the strike. Greene tumbled in the air clutching her son tightly to her bosom as they were lucky enough to be outside the blast of the first shells that made contact. The ground ripped apart underneath her feet as she ran over the hills as her and her offspring were not tough enough to survive a constant barrage. Alex and James were not so lucky, as they took full force of the first wave of bombs.

"Reposition artillery! Mother and Pariah heading Northbound!" Pratchett commanded into his radio.

"Roger that Throne. Moving to intercept," the dispatchers responded.

Back over on his side Pratchett surveyed the blackened highway for survivors. He couldn't observe much through the dust, smoke and flames, but he could tell that his men laid down damaging fire. In the craters and the burning bushes that littered the road were just charred remains of the two runners. He viewed a blackened blade-like appendage being seared to a crisp, a leg hanging from a nearby tree and smears of bioluminescent flesh in the hill where the two mutants were standing. The General wiped a hand down his face in stoic relief, then felt the sting of his broken nose, literally turned sideways and flat against his face.

"I need a clean up crew here. For my men and for samples," he called out. "And I need a damn evac."

He reached up to his broken ridge and gave a hardy jerk to the opposite side it was turned. The resounding crack and jolt of pain made the near eighty-year-old veteran grimace ever so slightly. Then came a snort and blood filled loogie being spat in the general direction of what remained of his enemies.

* * *

 **2050 Hours**

 **Los Angeles, California**

 **Emergency Base 01**

 **War Room**

"I want a full sweep of the surrounding barren land, eyes in the sky," Pratchett commanded to a small group of soldiers who stood near a corner. "We need all hands on deck here. Keep the military present in NY just in case there is a resurgence, but bring our boys to the West Coast. Set up our other EBs in the major cities and outposts in the smaller towns. Shut down all outgoing and incoming flights. Restrict air, sea and ground traffic to only our vehicles. If they don't have a star and double-u I want it grounded."

He couldn't catch a break. His nose had a scar going across it from being reset, his home base was gone and a walking plague was loose on the countryside. If he wasn't in the air conditioned war room, he might have broken something or _someone_ in frustration. His hands laid flat on the video-table to support his weight as live feeds of search crews played under him. The chatter of radio calls melded together in a blurts of "All clear" and "Expanding radius". His loyal henchmen Deacon and Santos stood by his side with arms folded paying close attention to their briefing as everyone else around him scrambled to set out.

"We need to update our intel from New York. They aren't working together," Pratchett started. "He came for Pariah- attacked my caravan. When I regained consciousness I witnessed him fighting Mother and Zeus."

"That's insane," Deacon said.

Pratchett's hand touched the monitor built into the war room table and slid documents open on the touchscreen. It was unspoken that whatever Pratchett showed them next was classified. The files contained images of James Heller and Alex Mercer from various New York locations as well as long dossiers on their actions.

"Our intel told us Zeus created Heller, just like any other Evolved, but Heller was the one seen most often disrupting our operations while the others stayed hidden within our ranks. I believe he came alone and Zeus followed, or maybe they both came and had a disagreement, I don't really care. Our artillery sprayed them all over the highway, that's all I need."

Deacon scanned the files and squinted at phrases that caught his attention; Orion Project, Whitelight and Bloodtox.

"We have always presumed that Zeus killed Mother in the first outbreak, but I saw that freaky bitch standing right with him. What these things are capable of, I'm not fully sure, but what I do know is that we blew two of them away and need to find the others. The child must be brought to me unharmed. If the Mother can be contained, I want her as well. If not, I won't cry any fucking tears."

"Our halos are in the air scouring the hillsides and we have men footing it through the brush. Cleanup crews are scraping up what's left off the road. We will find them, sir," Deacon said with Santos grunting in agreement.

"Dismissed," Pratchett said.

His two favorites then saluted him and stomped out of the room. Fingers tapped onto the screen opening up a channel to another facility. Displayed on the table monitor was a cranky Dr. Myers yelling at his colleagues to move out of his way.

"Myers," Pratchett roared into the intercom.

The good doctor jumped in fright at the booming voice that came from all over.

"Yes, G-general," he said searching the room for the leader.

"What have you found," Pratchett said with anger laced words.

The doctor tossed files over his table and flipped through several notebooks.

"I-I-I-I have found that the samples your men brought in are from the original DX-1118c strain and the Evolved strain. I have, uhm, observed them under my microscope. They are a very fascinating bundle of cells, they-"

"Anything new?!"

Myers fumbled through another notebook nervously trying to appease the aggressive General.

"I've just started, sir. I can't perform miracles of a genetic nature in a few hours."

Pratchett grunted and moved his hand over to the end button.

"B-but sir, if I may say something about my work conditions-"

The call ended and Pratchett went back to listening to search feeds.

* * *

 **2215 Hours**

 **California**

 **Highway 101**

 **Grassy Area Off Road**

A cell phone with a cracked screen vibrates for its fourteenth time in a row. It has sat in the short grass for several hours, near the gloved hand of James Heller who has been too hesitant to answer it. He knew exactly who was on the other end of the call and hearing her voice at that moment would torment him. He doesn't have the words she wants to hear, nor can he give her anymore promises as she has most likely gotten to the point where she doesn't believe him anymore. Hell, he doesn't even know what to believe after today. It started out so straight forward then spiraled out of control so quickly. He was supposed to come in, tear shit up and walk out. Now he is the one torn up, left as little more and a head, half a torso and an arm. A few hours ago he was just a head laying in grass. The bombardment of heavy ordinances ripped him apart and sent him flying far and away from the battlefield. Without the aid of extra biomass the healing process would take longer than normal; maybe the rest of the night to get his legs back. But at least he was alive. He can't say the same for Alex. He saw the first bomb hit him square in the chest. While he soared through the air as just a head he got to witness another bomb collide with the rest of Alex's body. He knows they're tough, but these types of strikes are near impossible to defend against. Their mass will by spread all over and most defenses will be chewed through. He's lucky he even got away this banged up.

In his mind he feels a dissonance between the death of Mercer for the second time. He obviously wanted to get the dude out of his way to kill Pariah, but in a way this trip could've been seen as revenge for Pariah changing him. He is not fond of the man, not by a long shot and still blames him for a lot of the trouble his family has suffered, but he was a part of Heller for a long while. He has witnessed his hardships and seen the turmoil he's been through. Heller has done some equally fucked up things in his crusade of avenging his family, so pointing to Alex as the bad guy would be disingenuous. But he can't shake the feeling in his stomach- what's left of it- that Mercer could have fought harder to resist. Could have done something to overrule Pariah's command.

The phone rings for the fifteenth time.

* * *

"I don't think he's going to answer, Kiddo," Dana says to a teary eyed Amaya, who's sitting in her swivel chair wearing the computer headset.

"He has to..." she choked out.

"He's Superman, remember? He's fine."

"Yeah, but... I just want to hear his voice!"

Dana held off from touching the child. A hand on the shoulder nor even a hug would console this type of anxiety. She can't say she doesn't relate, though. When Alex was out for long stretches of time, she too wanted to call him and just here him say hello to reassure her that he was alive, no matter how powerful he seemed. There was always the little inkling of doubt that something could injure him.

Amaya began to sob heavily now. Tears and snot came down her face and it broke Dana's heart to see. She couldn't blame James for being away, it's his duty now to keep them safe. But he has always answered her calls. Something was up.

"I-I don't know what to say Amaya, just try and understand that your dad is trying to help us. To help the world. He loves you very, very much."

Her words had no effect. The crying little girl balled up her fists and held them to her forehead.

"Is he scared," she cried.

"What? What do you mean," Dana questioned.

"Is he scared of hurting me? Because of what he is?"

The look on Dana's face could only be described as terror. Amaya has begun blaming herself for her father not being home.

"W-what? No. It can't be that."

"Then what is it," Amaya screamed. "Why did my daddy leave?! I don't have my mom anymore! I need him!"

It was at this moment that Dana began to tear up. Seeing the young child tear herself apart was too much to bear. As they looked at each other with watery eyes, the didn't notice the computer screen turning white with a timer counting up. The deep voice of James Heller came through the PC speakers with a few coughs at first, then a timid, "Hello?".

"Daddy," Amaya said.

"Yeah. It's me, Maya."

She wiped her eyes and nose on her shirt sleeve.

"Daddy, I miss you," she said through dry sobs.

"Oh no. Were you crying? I am so, so sorry."

Dana cleaned her eyes and smiled lightly at the exchange.

"I just want you home. Please come home!"

"I will. I promise you I will. I just need a little more time. Please, understand."

"I'm trying to."

"You're a big girl. I know you can handle this. I believe in you. Do you believe in me...?"

"Yes."

"I love you, Maya."

"I love you too. Is Dana around?"

Maya took off the headset and passed it to Dana. She slipped it on and tried to sound as stable as possible.

"Hey Muscles."

"This is adult stuff, so-"

"I got ya."

She looked over at the spying Amaya, and all it took was eye contact for the child to understand that she needed to be elsewhere. Adult talk is not for her ears. She made her way into the kitchen so as to not overhear the conversation. Dana switched off the computers speakers so that the exchange could only be heard through the earpiece.

"Why was she still up? It is late over there."

"She had a mid-day nap. Nothing I can do about that. Plus it's the weekend. So, uh, what do you need big guy?"

"I'm gonna need a new phone for starters. This one is busted."

"Sounds like you've been fighting real fucking hard."

"You have no idea."

Dana's tone shifted, "That's true. I don't have an idea on what's going on."

"Look I-"

"Muscles. James. Come on man. I've been with you through much of this. I don't want to sound like a prying bitch, but... I think I deserve to know what you're doing."

"Dana you are not going to like this shit."

"Hey, I'm a big girl, too. I can handle it."

He sighed a long sigh and was silent for a few seconds. Then he came in with a steady tone, "Fine."

* * *

 **2301 Hours**

 **California**

 **Grassy Area**

 **Mountain Summit**

It started as a blob of reddish black goop; a state it has been in before thanks to another type of man-made bomb. The child has carried it with him since their escape until the coast was clear and the moment was right. Now under the darkness of night with no black suited squadrons coming for them, he can work. His mother put him down on his feet and he lays the clinging sludge onto the dirt. It only takes a poke for his command to take effect.

The blob pulsated awkwardly on two sides, then binds itself into an anatomical human heart shape. From the heart expands two lungs, which then sprout a whole circulatory system that creeps through the grass like searching vines. Bones mold themselves into place and the rebuilding body stands on its own. And the muscle and skin form so do the clothes it feels most comfortable with. Finally after a few seconds of reshaping itself, the blob stands as a man; Alex Mercer.

"That is never fun," he says.

"This will be," Pariah speaks.

Mercer looks out over the hill and sees the skyline and busy car lights below. A new city to purge, a new populace to command awaits them. He looks down and smiles to himself at what he sees. Huge, letters facing the city that spell out the name Hollywood.


	6. Chapter 6- Search and Destroy

**2315 Hours**

 **California**

 **Highway 101**

 **Grassy Area Off-Road**

Empty dirt roads and barren fields of dry grass were alight with the searching high beams of military grade helicopters. Like buzzards stalking a fresh corpse, Blackwatch had been circling the massive expanse of land stretching nearly two-hundred miles. Their mission: find and eliminate any and all biological threats. They were ordered out there nearly three hours ago and have found nothing. Hundreds of soldiers on foot and in off-road humvees combing the brush have nothing to show for their efforts besides their own shattered war toys and the bodies of their own men. These are the remnants of a battle between a few of their rank and the intruder who attacked their Vandenberg Air Force Base; James Heller. He had come for their quarantined VIP, the virus-born child, Pariah. For what purpose they did not know. What they did know, however, was that their General was very uncomfortable with the idea that their attacker may still be alive and the fact that their VIP was still missing.

"Squadron F22-3, Report. Over," an exhausted and aged male voice said over the radio of a Blackwatch Sergeant patrolling the countryside.

"Nothing, but dirt and dead, sir. Over," he replied.

"Continue sweep," the voice responded. "Over."

"Roger that. Out."

The sergeant sighed and tilted his head back in disappointment. One of his subordinates recognized his disgruntlement and was more than willing to show his irritation. They've been out there since the sun was up stomping through highway blacktop, to hills of grass. They can't take much more.

"Pratchett is losin' his goddamned mind," the lower ranking soldier started. "We've been trudgin' up and down these fuckin' hills for hours. Ain't shit out here!"

The commander slid a hand under his standard issue night-vision goggles and squeezed the space between his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," the commander started. "But he has a right to be worked up. You see this damage out here? The things we are fighting did this. Tore through our shit like wet toilet paper. They are dangerous. We gotta find them before they get somewhere populated."

"I get being worried. But they clearly ain't here no more. You think I'd be hidin' in the shitty Californian hills if I had jackbooted gunners comin' for me? Hell no! I'd be on the road or on a plane outta here. I heard about their shapeshiftin' bullshit. They coulda' left with one of the earlier crews and we wouldn't know!"

The commander readjusted his head gear and stretched his tired back. The heavy supplies they brought were starting to taking their toll. There is no telling when he may pass out from overexertion.

"You're right. But General Pratchett is in command and if he wants us out here- we stay out here. Besides, no car or plane has been through here since we've come out. We own the air and the ground now. At the very least we could find what direction they may have fled."

The subordinate threw his hands up in frustration, "This is fuckin' bullshit!"

* * *

One-hundred feet above them a helicopter flew over carrying a crew of six men. They gathered together at the beginning of the call to action ready and willing to kill. They never got to join up in the Ops during New York's outbreaks so they were highly ambitious in letting hot lead fly now that the chaos came to their front yard. When they first hour was filled with gearing up to be a second shift scout they lost some of their vigor. When the second hour was used coasting along the highway staring down at empty, black pavement, they lost a little more. When they were told their third hour would be much of the same, their rush of adrenaline was completely swapped with the staleness of disappointment and sore butts from sitting in the metal seats of their Blackhawk.

They came over the charred grass of the earlier bombardment just as their radio called out from Pratchett's war room in the city.

"What have you found? Over," General Pratchett asked.

"We're empty, sir," the pilot replied. "Over."

There was a long uncomfortable pause as the pilot waited for a reply. His men shuffled uncomfortably in their seats hoping for anything other than mindless flying for more hours. If it wasn't for the mechanical hum and thump of the Blackhawk's blades you would've heard a pin drop. Someone then would have proceeded to shoot it from reflex from their pent up hostility.

"Continue recon. Over." Pratchett replied.

The helicopter filled with the sighs and vulgarity of the crew. The pilot lifted a closed fist to silence the dissent of his men before responding to the already agitated General. When the noise died down, he replied to Pratchett with a, "Roger that." The radio nearly cracked when he slammed it back into place sharing in the frustration of the men riding in his vehicle.

* * *

Blackwatch deals in dirty work but this particular work in the ranks was absolutely the filthiest. Men in hazmat suits nearly four dozen in number surrounded the area of Pariah's wrecked Day Care truck. They were accompanied by an equally numerous amount of armed guards who too felt the itch for battle die out over the search. They road there together in packed humvees, several trailer trucks, a few cranes and several powerful flatbeds in tow for the arduous task of clean up.

During training, it's much less of a hassle to remove the dead from the battlefield. Perforated mutant dogs or a few bastards who had the misfortune of their rifles jamming on them was a simple six man at the most job. You'd come in, identify the body, place them in a bag and ship them to the furnace or in the case of infected, send samples to the lab for storage, then send them to the furnace. But when dealing with the super soldiers, you needed nearly everyone on call. One D-Code when fully grown could weigh up to five-hundred pounds, maybe six-hundred if he was already an above average sized guy before the procedure. The new E-Codes were closer to eight-hundred on average, and Pratchett wanted each body sent to a lab for study. That meant each several hundred pound body part they discovered needed to be lifted into a truck and brought back to his emergency lab, meaning hours of back-breaking labor for the crew.

"He said two, right?" a yellow hazmat suit-wearing crew member asked his comrade.

The one being spoken to looked over and found his co-worker kneeling next to a bush a few yards ahead.

"Uh, yeah," he replied walking over to the shrubbery and squatting crew member. "Two blue-boys on the road, another handful back at the base, but we don't have to touch them until morning."

"Got half of one here."

When he got close he saw what his friend was talking about. There, laying in the dirt, was the remains of an Evolved Super Soldier. It was legless and missing an arm, but all else matched up with what was common with his type. The serum they use to stay functional, though darkened from drying, had soaked into the soil. Just another detail they'd have to burn away once the body was moved.

"That still makes two," the now observing cleaner said. He looked back at the rest of his group and waved a not-so-enthusiastic hand in the air. "Gonna' need a lift over here! We got a heavy!"

* * *

 **2350 Hours**

 **Los Angeles, California**

 **Emergency Base 01**

 **War Room**

"Our men are sweeping the major cities, sir," Deacon said to his commanding officer whose back was towards him as to keep his eyes on the wall of monitors aligning the War Room. Pratchett has stood there almost the entire time since his retrieval and it was completely obvious that he was pissed. Many a squadron leader walked into this low-lit, fifty by fifty room, only to be choked out after delivering vexing news. Deacon and Santos never displayed disgust to Pratchett's rampages; they were often warranted in their eyes. Those who failed to uphold their duties should be removed from said duties, either through repositioning or bullet. However, they always tread with caution. They were very useful to him, but any sign of incompetence on their part could have the General's anger set on them.

"So far there has been no discovery of any biological abnormalities. Nor have any hospitals reported any above average instances of flu-like symptoms."

Pratchett, without taking his eyes off the screens asked, "And the boy?"

Deacon looked over to Santos, who met his cautious gaze with his usual scowling mug.

"Still missing, sir."

Prattchet threw a solid fist and a monitor exploded in a shower of sparks and glass.

"This..." he started, venom dripping from his clenched teeth. "...does not bode well."

"It could mean that Heller is dead, and that the child is still on the run," Deacon tried to reason.

"Or it could mean they are both in hiding," Pratchett noted while retracting his hand out of the monitor. Surprisingly, the glass left his fist uncut. The General took a slow methodical breath through his still injured nostrils and composed himself. "How many of our men have made it back from New York Zero?"

"Nearly fifty percent with the others coming in breaks so they can break down their bases before moving inland. The military has already been ordered to move into the cities and are being repurposed for our use."

Pratchett slowly turned to face his most trusted colleagues. Even though the lighting on the displays were dim, the bags and worry-lines of his aged face were still ever prominent, highlighting the stress he was going through. Prattchet, tired and worn from the day, propped himself on the digital display table in front of him. He gave another deep breath and clutched at the migraine he gave himself. Running deadly ops never gets easier. It takes its toll the longer you stay and Pratchett has been in it for almost fifty years. He gave a low grunt. To him, it was a sigh, to Deacon and Santos it sounded like a gorilla growling or a bull huffing at the ground before a charge. With a slide of his finger over the virtual display he opened up camera feeds to several Blackwatch Emergency Bases, including the one housing Dr. Myers, who was methodically looking through a microscope. In the six other windows, soldiers were shown standing at attention and being looked over by physicians for fighting health.

"I have hand picked a couple dozen more within our ranks to undergo the E-Code procedure," the matured commander said. "They will meet with Myers under your surveillance. Then the will be sent out into the cities to assist in defense of our major locations. I want the majority of our search crews pulled in, but leave a company of men on the outskirts. We haven't located the remains of Zeus, Heller and Mother so we need to be tightly knit in case they resurface. I've told our analytics crew to disperse drones and viral detectors throughout the cities to assist in the search. If the boy is still alive, he'd most likely be nearby."

"Understood, sir," Deacon nodded. Santos, with his naturally mute personality, gave an agreeing head nod and a deep rumble of his vocal cords.

"I will inform all other commanders to deploy heavy crews into the streets and to begin checkpoints." Deacon said.

Both saluted their commander and then promptly left the War Room.

* * *

 **0050 Hours**

 **Downtown Los Angeles, California**

 **Unspecified Building**

 **Lab Floor**

"You should be sleeping, doctor," said Dr. Pierce, a leading geneticist.

"No, no. Having too much fun," Myers replied without his eye leaving his complex microscope.

Pierce has worked with a lot of crazies in her young life. In fact, some would say she's one herself as she has spent countless hours studying and recreating Dr. Myer's experiments in preparation for this day. However, the actual man himself was odder than anyone she's encountered. Since he stepped in, well was dragged in by Deacon and the scary quiet one, he has been at his station working without a word said to his assistants. On top of that, no one here would ever describe what they do as fun. Revolutionary to some, dangerous to most, but never "fun". Although she too knows the feeling of late night research. She felt the older gentleman would need his rest, especially after his outburst from earlier that day.

"A few hours ago you were cursing our existence. Now you enjoy being here," she asked.

Myers lifted a vial from his pack which contained an orange luminescent chunk of what appeared to be skin up to the bright lights above. He twirled his wrist a little to rotate the specimen, then placed the vial in a machine container connected to his scope. Then went back into studying what was under his lense.

"It's about privacy. I value my privacy. And no, I don't enjoy being here- my old lab was much more cozy," he said motioning a hand to the cages that housed human and mutated individuals. "I just enjoy working."

Dr. Pierce raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you find it hard to work with people you can't trust your discoveries with?"

"Not at all. I mix and test everything. You all run me samples and watch for reactions. And whatever advancement are made will be awarded to me. Simple."

Pierce folded her arms and furrowed her brow.

"Sounds like you're very prideful."

"No... I just refuse to let my work be stolen from me again."

"Stolen," she questioned?

"Before your time, my dear. Besides you wouldn't understand."

Pierce scoffed and took an aggressive stance.

"If I can understand the intricacies of a man-made plague, the reworking of DNA to make physical and mental changes, and recreate some of your procedures I think I can understand the concept of thievery."

Dr. Myers blankly looked up from his scope and swiveled in his stool to meet her gaze which was now beaming hot fire at him. He put a hand under his thick goatee and ran it down to a point and back up again. He took a deep breath finally choosing the words he wanted to say.

"You ever work for Gentek," he started.

Pierce was taken aback, "Uhm, most of us have, yes."

"Then you have worked with the thieves."

Myers was unmoved by the confused expression that twisted up on Pierce's olive-colored face.

"You worked at Gentek which means you worked under McMullen and his pet, Mercer. Well, let's just say they were given a large amount of my work to 'improve'," Myers made air-quotes on improve. "All of this of course without my consent. In the old days, I was the leading geneticist. Then McMullen comes along and everything I did gets pushed to New York by the peabrains in the brass."

Pierce lowered her guard and her expression turned to pity. It's a dog-eat-dog world in most STEM careers. Being a brown-skinned female hasn't opened a lot of opportunities to her. She's lucky they recognized her talents right out of college, or she'd be living with her parents. Though working under Gentek and then directly with Blackwatch was less than stellar, she was still happy to put her diploma to use. Hearing another fellow scientist got shafted hit her empathy buttons hard.

"Oh... wow, I'm sorry. I never knew."

Myers waved away her concern.

"Eh, your not supposed to. All of this is classified as they say. I'm only telling you because well, they need me. You all...," he motioned his hands around him to the other scientists working in the facility. "... not so much. Hell, from what I heard they gutted out the old facility and everyone in it. You being here before that makes you very lucky. So I imagine you'll keep this under your hat unless you like the idea of bullets inside you, and you will stay out of my business."

With that the old doctor turned back to his microscope and Pierce was left stunned and mouth agape. It was a full five seconds before she recouped and turned away to storm off back to her station. Back to his duties, the good doctor penned down a few notes on a pad at his desk. These recordings of the activity going under his scope read:

\- Introduction of living blood cells: Produced rapid infection and multiplication. Expected results. Results are identical with skin cells, bone cells, muscle cells and all other organic units.

\- Introduction of stem cells: Produced rapid infection with no apparent multiplication. Abnormal for virus. Requires more study.

With a press of a button on the side of his scope the samples switched out and in came the skin sample he examined earlier. Under the casing of the device, a microscopic part of the infected flesh was removed and projected under the lens of the microscope. On his pad Myers jotted down:

\- Introduction of DX-1118C (Direct Mercer Sample):

Back to his lens, he witnessed something... unprecedented. Like all other samples of Redlight and Blacklight that they had, the virus went for assimilation of the foreign organism it encountered- even when said organisms were other pathogens of another strain. Myers has been testing a sample of Heller's infected being under his glass; a souvenir from his bombing earlier that day. With this specimen, he has witnessed it go through the usual motions as any other sample they've used. But when interacting with Mercer's strain- another gift from the battlefield- something new had taken shape. Heller's specimen became inert almost instantly. Mercer's virions then proceeded to inject themselves into Heller's now inactive bodies causing them to rapidly die off. In any other case, the virus would replicate, but this is pure destruction. All footage taken from the New York infections never hinted at Mercer's physiology having this effect.

Myers looked up from his glass and retreated to his notes. Something like this could not be, not with a virus with as high as an infection rate as this. He's sent the virus on different forms of itself before, and every time it was the same; the Blacklight virus would take over and multiply. Now it's just coding the other virions to burst. He flipped through pages and pages of his own written research and it all added up the same except for now.

The doctor placed his notes down and raised a rigid finger in the air.

"I need all research done on the Evolved sent to me now," he boomed.

Every lab coat and gun-toting goon turned to him in a query.

"I said now, people! I am on to something!"

The scientists, still confused, slowly revved up to collecting their vials and papers and brought them to Myers' station. Dr. Pierce took her sweet time, as she's not really favoring Myers at the moment.

"Good, good. Now leave me," Myers ordered his assistants.

Like dogs, the slunk away heads low, back to their stations, disappointed in being left out of decent work. Sifting through the other papers given to him, Myers couldn't hold back the smile that slowly crept upon his wrinkled face. He was on to something. Something that may lead to a new discovery and put him back on top with the so-called peabrained brass.

* * *

 **0050 Hours**

 **Los Angeles, California**

 **Emergency Base DE-10**

 **Lab Cold Room**

In the basement level of one Blackwatch's city-wide miniature compounds was a metal plated morgue style room, fitted with cold temperature pumping ventilation and a built-in incinerator. The purpose of this tiny thirty-by-thirty room was to dump the dead infantry or extract critical pieces from infected hosts. The cold helped keep choice parts fresh while leaving the virus alive. Then it could be sealed and shipped to wherever else it was needed. Only two members were on call as the rest loaded up to pick away at the hillside for the dead. They sat on stools awaiting the return of their crew preparing operational tools.

"Jack ain't comin' today?" a hazmat-wearing lab assistant asked after looking over scalpels. "I didn't see him leave with the others."

"Oh, you didn't hear," replied his colleague, also clad in hazmat gear, who was tapping away at his computer logs. "Dude, got ganked by the ugly one,"

"That Santos fucker? Jesus."

"Yep."

"What did he do?"

"Looked him in the eye- the bad one."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. Deacon told us all not to do that, but Jack was new. How would he know? Whenever those two come around my eyes go straight to their toes."

"Ain't that the truth. Poor Jack, he was so young. How did he go?"

"Oh man, it was not quick. Dug his thumbs into his eyes and banged his head on the concrete until everything went wet. Not pretty."

"God damn it. Sometimes this job can be a real bitch."

"Aye, preaching to the fucking choir."

"I remember first joining up here after leaving the service. Back then it would be a stern talking to, a reprimand, then death. Now the loony bastards go straight for the throat."

"I hear ya."

The computer chimed with a rapid alarm.

"Well, there it is. Time to work," said the tool cleaner.

The computer user hit a few buttons and pressurized double doors opened to a modified forklift. In the seat was another hazmat worker, where at the lifting end was a flatbed carrying two body bags. The driver slowly worked into the cold room and positioned the bodies onto one the special slabs that laid in the middle of the room. The driver then backed the lift outside of the cold room.

"You know what gets me," asked the tool guy as he stepped over to unzip a bag.

"What," asked the other.

"That we haven't been told what killed these guys."

The driver came back into the cold room and hit a few buttons on the door, locking in the cold. Vents within the wall revved up and pressurized the room accordingly. "Man, it's dangerous, whatever it was," the driver began. "Bodies, trucks and tanks all destroyed out there."

"Think it was one of those big ones? I know a guy who was out in Manhattan. Said there were these disgusting, pink ones that were like gorillas. Just as strong as a super soldier," the computer operator worried.

"Nah, they're probably unstable. Remember the first batch of these guys? Used to explode all over the place. Something about their antigens being too rampant or some shit one of the eggheads said," one said while grabbing for a scalpel. "They used to go crazy and break shit before 'pop'."

"Could be," the driver finished as he came over to join his colleague at the operating table.

"What are we cutting out?"

The PC user typed on his keyboard until a notice came on screen.

"They want brains, hearts, and as much of the blue stuff as we can drain. Burn the rest."

"Well then," the driver said as he began removing the body's face mask, "Let's get it going."

All of this felt way too familiar. In another life, one he stole memories from, he awoke on a slab in a morgue in New York. Those were things a man he hates experienced. Now, in an ironic way of fate, he gets to go through the same thing. He bided his time until the moment was right and now was about the best time to break character. It went like most other frightening encounters of this nature. He shoved an entire hand into the nearest guy and took him in to replace his limbs. Then he jumped on the others before they could reach the doors to escape. Nearly eight hours wasted waiting for his body to repair itself has left him very, very angry. The heavy doors of the cold room were parted by the hands of James Heller. The screeching and whining of the metal alerted the crew of cleaners who stood out on the basement floor. When the saw the mug of the unknown man, they each tried to rush out for assistance. Like a shark in a school of fish, he came at those who weren't fast enough to get away and took them into himself in a flurry of blood and jagged claws.

The rest managed to push up into the elevator that would take them to the main floor. Panicked and powerless they cowered in the large people mover until it finally rose the sixty feet up to the main flooring of the base. Only one made it out before the cage of the elevator went into free fall back down to the basement. The crash was thunderous, it echoed throughout the spacious area garnering the attention of each gun holding soldier. The screams that followed from the cleaning crew being torn apart was what made them aim their weapons.

"He- he's not human," yelled the lone survivor tripping over his feet to get as far away as possible. He weaved passed soldiers, APCs and trucks to get up and out.

"We have hostile in base DE-10," radioed several combatants.

A dozen soldiers moved in close to the elevator shaft and took a knee to prepare their aim. However, he was too quick. Some saw the twisted scowl on his face, others just a flash of red and black. Heller jumped up the elevator shaft and with a flick of his wrist, they lost their heads. He landed with a hefty thump breaking concrete under his heels and retracted his shimmering whipfist. The heads of the now deceased troopers fell around him in a shower of gore. The rest opened fire and his skin went alight with the sparks of ricocheting rifle rounds. He took to the air again and pounced on a young shooter who thought his distance would help him. Heller's palm met the Blackwatch soldier's face and he let his weight and momentum do the rest. His head cracked on the pavement like an egg on the edge of a bowl, and Heller consumed him for sustenance. More bullets cracked off around him and he ignored their light bumps against his body.

"Heavy fire, heavy fire on him, now," one screamed.

The familiar 'choom' of rocket launchers came from one hundred feet to his right. Reflexively he began the morphing of his body. Everything from his fingers to his rear deltoid hardened and expanded. Large, spiky, studs grew on the outside, as his arm stretched into a crescent shape. The fast-twitching fibers of the muscles under his shoulders grew extremely powerful and sensitive. When the nose of the earliest rocket made contact with his fully formed shield, his muscles responded with a wide sweep. The other was given a shoulder check to the side. One rocket impacted near a large grouping of soldiers and took them out in an incredible 'boom' while the other found the side of an APC and set off a devastating chain reaction down the line of armored vehicles. As the bombers frantically tried to reload, Heller was upon them, taking up one in each hand and clapping them together. His hungering tendrils then did the rest. The hail of gunfire and shouting continued as James danced around the compound, consuming soldier after soldier after soldier. Each one dying a horrific death with the devouring of their remains as the chaser. Soon there was only a handful left, they retreated close together and continued fire.

"Throne, we have tango primary right on us! Send backup to my position, please," one of the remaining yelled into his radio. In front of him, the viral being that cut through them menacingly walked up to the group, letting them empty their magazines fruitlessly.

"You've been read, DE-10," Pratchett's voice came through. "Dropping the hammer on your position."

The radioing soldier freaked, "What?! No!"

"Over and out," Pratchett spoke. Then the call was ended.

As Heller now stood less than twenty feet away he heard the familiar sounds of bombing. They rumbled through the base, getting louder and louder. Soon the walls shattered in fire and the ground cracked under his feet. The soldiers he stalked disappeared under falling rubble, their screams silenced with wet slaps. He only got a glance at several rockets coming in from above before he hid under his shields. Outside the thump of helicopter blades grew quiet under the powerful explosions of thermobaric bombs. Three of these gunships fitted with these powerful munitions fired continuously at the base until all went flat and nothing, but dust rose from the area. If there were civilians nearby they were most likely taken by the pressure waves or choking under the wall of debris. If their own men were still around, well, they knew what they signed up for. For more than a few moments there was silence. The choppers hovered above the street, main weapons still trained on the rubble for movement. When nothing came up, the leading gunship radioed, "All clear." Just as the pilot began to lower his handset, his gunner fired the main cannon. The pilot looked up just in time to see James coming at him, hammerfists ready.


End file.
